Once upon a Summertime
by Tricksi
Summary: Trapped in a twisted dreamland where life is increasingly more blurred, it's hard to tell what is real and what is fantasy. Who is dead and who is not? Katniss Everdeen isn't sure about herself even, in the aftermath of war. Alternative MJ-ending, with a proper 'happy ever after'.
1. Once upon a Summertime

**A/n:** Hello there, and thank you for giving my story a chance! This is my take on an alternative ending for Suzanne Collins _Hunger Games_-book series. Had to be done, seeing as how I was seriously depressed for a whole week after finishing reading Mockingjay (I have a grip on reality _too_, i swear...). In other words, this is basically my daydreams on how it all could have ended... a little less depressing.

This is also the dubious sequel to my other story _Home but yet so far away_, but i say dubious because you don't have to read that to follow this storyline. Basically, I imagine here that everything during the Quarter Quell and the rebellion happened just like in the books, except for the very last few chapters of _Mockingjay_.

No rights belong to me, and if you recognize lines from the book in this chapter, it's because I took them straight from there, just to mark clearly where I imagine this story taking off. Um... it's all a bit surreal, i know. I wanted to create a sort of fairy tale-atmosphere, but if there's something too vague, please feel free to ask me!

Hope you like! I'm super grateful for any reviews or comments ;)

* * *

I think it's the crackling sound of the dying fire that wakes me from my shallow slumber. Startled, I fly up from the rocking chair where I spend most of my time, instantly alerted. I scan the darkness, fearing I will see the shadows come alive, but too scared to turn the lights on. The long fingers of firelight dance before my eyes, and i desperately need to get out of here. My legs are able to carry me only as far as the distance from the kitchen to the living room. These days, I just can't seem to stay awake. Consciousness does little to clear my head, as my life has turned into one endless bad dream since the war for freedom, the rebellion that overthrew the Capitol, ended.

_My name is Katniss Everdeen. I'm eighteen years old. I survived a war, but i'm not sure if this counts as living. Other than that, I just don't know._

I fall sleep again, crashing on to the couch in my living room.

A terrible nightmare follows, where I'm lying at the bottom of a deep grave, and every dead person I know by name comes by and throws a shovel full of ashes on me. It's quite a long dream, considering the list of people. Not until the very end, when my mouth is full of dust and I can barely breathe or see their faces, comes the people whose deaths haunt me the most. The boy from district one, who was the first person I killed with my own hands. The rest of the dead tributes from my first round in the Hunger Games, who had to die in order for me to live. All the brave members of my squad, who I led to certain death. Finnick, of course. And then, the very last face I can make out before I wake up gasping for breath, with the sensation of grave dust still in my throat, that face is _his_. The one death I know I will never come to terms with. The loss that echoes in my head, twisting it until I lose my grip on reality.

Like now. Pale morning light comes around the edge of the shutters. The scraping of the shovel continues. Still half in the nightmare, I run down the hall, out of the front door and around the side of the house, because now I'm pretty sure I can scream at the dead. When I see who it is, I pull up short. His face is flushed from digging up the ground under the windows. In a wheelbarrow are five scraggly bushes.

"You're back", I say, my voice rusty from long disuse.

Peeta looks up, a now-familiar wary look on his face when he sees me. Other than that, he looks well. Thin and covered in burn scars like me, but with a healthier glow than last time I saw him. Which, I realise, must have been months ago.

"Just visiting" he says. "I got a job in 11 a while back, when they finally would let me leave the hospital. Agricultural stuff."

"Oh" I say in a lame voice, because I really couldn't find the energy to care even if I tried to. And I don't try very often these days. Who does he think he is, _prince charming_? Once, that was not very far from the truth. Unfortunately for him, I'm not the most pliant princess ever to be stuck in a tower. Tower, solitary mansion, it's all the same really.

"So why come visiting then?"

The last time I talked to Peeta, it seemed unlikely we would ever see each other again, seeing as how we could barely stand to look at each other. There was just too much bitterness, too much confusion between us. That was in the Capitol, right after the end of the war. I had just been discharged from the hospital, but the plans forming in my head had been anything but peaceful, still focusing on death rather than life. All I knew then was that I had one more death to smear my hands with, in revenge of the attempt to kill someone that I had spent all my life protecting.

Peeta couldn't understand me anymore, had probably had enough of my destructive mind. He is nothing if not a champion of light. Which is also why in return, I simply can't relate to him any more than he can understand me. As it turns out, the idea of our love was little more than just that: an idea. Shallow feelings based on the ideal of who we were in each other's eyes, which as it turns out had little to do with who we are deep inside.

No, he could not love me, not all of me and my faults, but it took him seeing me fall apart inch by inch, revealing every dark corner of my soul, for him to realise this. I was relieved, but underneath, I crumbled a little bit more at yet another loss. Under different circumstances, we would have made great friends. But never true lovers.

And then there was this look in his eyes, the one that always lingered after the rounds of tracker-jacker venom that the Capitol used on him. It still hasn't disappeared I see now, because he looks at me with badly hidden suspicion.

I don't blame him, though. If faced with my own reflection, I doubt I would look very happy to see me, either. I make a half hearted effort to push my hair out of my eyes and realize it's matted into clumps.

Nor am I the prettiest of princesses in need of rescue, it seems. I feel defensive.

"What are you doing?"

"I got these from a colleague, a gardener," he says, in a much kinder voice than a moment ago.

Perhaps I'm only imagining the resentment I see in him. It's not unthinkable that I'm reflecting my own feelings about myself onto him. But behind that door lies a whole realm of self-assessment, and last time I checked, I had locked that gate and swallowed the key.

Right, I'm more like the evil dragon than the lovely princess in the stories.

He continues talking, while his image dances back and forth before my eyes. Good or bad? Angel or demon? One second, he's a light, heavenly blue-eyed fairy come to set my world straight; the next, a menacing gnome trying to lure me into danger.

"To remind you not everyone is dead," he explains patiently. "I thought we could plant them along the side of the house."

I look at the bushes, the clumps of dirt hanging from their roots, and catch my breath as the word _roses_ registers. I'm about to yell vicious things at Peeta when the full name comes to me. Not plain rose but evening primrose. The flower my sister was named for.

Prim. I nod my consent to him, because he's actually right. Prim is not dead.

Still, a nameless terror creeps up on me as I remember how close she came to death. Perhaps I'm lucky I don't remember much of it, after I threw myself over her body to protect her from the worst of the fire and instead went up in flames myself. It was pure chance, me spotting her in the square in front of the President's mansion and understanding the danger of the situation, right before the second bomb went off. I do recall screaming her name with such intensity that she just _had_ to listen, had to turn her back to the massacre in front of us and run to me. Pure luck, and my selfishness in putting her life above every other life that could possibly be saved, before the flames devoured their high-pitched screams for help.

Prim was pretty badly burnt too, her more so than me despite my efforts, but she's alive. Unlike all those other kids.

At that thought I shiver despite the mild morning air and the sun breaking through to announce another day has begun. Exhaustion comes over me, and all I want to do is go curl up in the rocking chair again, because days are something I'm definitely not ready to face again. Then I realise Peeta has stopped digging up my garden, and is just standing there cautiously watching me. I stare back. Why is he being so nice anyway?

"Haymitch send you over here, huh?"

He laughs. "Haymitch is almost in as much of a state as you are, Katniss. I doubt he even remembers us anymore." His voice is still too cold and hard, but I can tell from his huge blue eyes that this really does bother him. The next thing out of his mouth surprises me.

"It was your mother. She came to visit me. Probably thought I could heal your broken heart, or something like that."

He says this as a joke, a tiny wry smile tugging at his lips, and it is kind of funny, because nothing could be further from the truth. We're not star-crossed lovers anymore. We both agreed on that _that_ train had passed after the rebellion, to my great relief. I suppose to my mother this would seem strange, because once we really did love each other. As much as I wanted to deny it, I used to be _in love_ with Peeta. When they brought him back from the Capitol, all broken and not able to remember who I was to him, it hurt me more than I cared to let on.

He did recover, but never fully; the reprogramming of his memory had been so strong that it altered him forever. I remember being crushed by this, since I had thought that being loved by Peeta was something I could always count on. But then we went on that insane mission to kill Snow and after all that happened there, love was just not on my chart anymore.

Not after Gale died.

I turn to go inside, leave Peeta alone to do whatever it was he came for. Apparently, my mother must have convinced him to look after me, because he calls after me,

"Go take a shower, Katniss".

And somehow, I do.

* * *

When I emerge from my room, hair damp but not as much in tangles anymore and a new set of clothes thrown on, I find a large box has been placed outside my door.

It's full of stuff. Not just any stuff, but the things that I left behind in 13. My bow and arrows, the locket Peeta gave me on the beach, my old family book. And my fathers old hunting jacket. Peeta must have brought them here for me.

How considerate.

I put on the jacket, sniffing the collar. Instantly, I'm overwhelmed by the onslaught of memories that the smell of old leather and wood smoke bring back. Turning on my heel, I retreat into my room and curl up on an old sofa in the corner, trying to hide from all the crushing emotions that come with the pictures in my head.

A bow and arrow is for hunting, something I did with _him_, back when things were alright and I was still me, Katniss who would roam the woods fearlessly with the best friend anyone could ask for. Back when said best friend was still alive. My mind racing down that train of thought, I'm soon thinking of the last time I saw him. Before he was dragged away by Peacekeepers to some fate I don't want to imagine, screaming for me to take his life with an arrow. It wouldn't have mattered though, even if I had been able to do it. He still died in the end, and indirectly, it was my fault.

All they told me after I woke up in hospital with half my skin burnt away was that they had identified his body. They were sorry, they said, but it was evident they couldn't care less. As for me, that's when I finally realised Gale was the one I couldn't live without.

It should have been clear a long time ago, I suppose, but I was just being too stubborn to see it, and perhaps too young. I remember coming home from the Games the first time, with the weight of deceit on my shoulders, but the happiness of coming home soaring in my heart, augmented by a force I had no name for in all my inexperience. I thought then that I could shut out the burden of love from my heart, keep my head cool and above the nonsense of feelings, but it took only weeks for Gale shatter that illusion.

One kiss in the woods, and I was deep under the surface, grasping for the world to make sense again. Three words, in a cabin by the lake, and it did.

But not until it was too late. I had to finish what I started, be it a rebellion or a pledge to marry someone I could never be happy with. In the end, the former happened first, and war made sure that nothing would ever be the same again.

And I suppose, that if I tried to sort out the mess inside of me, that would be the bottom of it. The guilt, the sadness that I'm the reason he's gone is a million times worse than the guilt I feel over all the other people who died in the rebellion I fuelled. I'd see that's why I haven't gone out the door for months. Why I feel as if I am weighted down, crushed and suffocated by darkness every single minute I'm awake, and why I find no peace in sleeping.

Right then, I wish I had never cleaned myself up. I want to be hopelessly dismissive of everything, about every aspect of my life, as if being clean somehow upsets my low self-respect. I wish Peeta would go away and leave me alone.


	2. Sleeping Beauty awakened

**A/n**: Whoops, almost published without adding this bit of dravel first! The Euro 2012 is taking a fair bit of my attention these days... Anyway, here's the second chapter, squeezed in to make the story proceed more realistically. I can promise you more action in the next one, so stick around ;)

As usual, I'd be delighted to know your thoughts on it! Quite enough of Peeta after this, don't you think...?

* * *

No such luck. My troubled slumber is interrupted twice that day with the smell of fresh bread and hot soup, which Peeta makes me eat only by threatening not to leave me alone if I don't. He's more cunning than I thought. He doesn't try to make me talk any more, perhaps realising that the belongings he brought me back has caused my relapse into darkness. It makes me think that despite everything, he still knows me quite well.

Therefore, he also knows that the only way to override my obstinate stubbornness is to be even more persistent himself. With steely determination, he dismisses my harsh words, and gets under my skin when I try my best to block him out and zone away to my private little dream world. He will have none of that, ignoring my lifeless apathy which would have scared off any other intruder. Even my sweet sister can't stand to be around me when I'm like this, and I know she draws out the time in between her short visits to evade facing me for as long as possible. Peeta, however, seems to have all the patience in the world.

It's maddening, at first. The prospect of being dragged out of my stupor, faced with reality and the explosive substance that are my memories, is unbearable. At breakfast the second day, he even makes me walk the entire distance downstairs and into the kitchen. I hear him mutter something about behaving like a human being, and I want to snap that I'll be as human as I want to, thanks. Still, I sit at the kitchen table, but I feel hopelessly out of place, and the effort of doing something so normal is almost too much. It makes me feel weak, and endlessly sad, but I don't want crack in front of him. It's a strange kind of pride. I settle on grouchy and a distinctly goblin-like posture instead. That'll show him _human_.

"Sleeping Beauty didn't have it this rough," I grumble at him, eyeing suspiciously a spoonful of porridge. "They left her alone just fine."

He looks at me with a disapproving frown but quirks up one corner of his mouth at my wretched figure.

"Well, I don't have a hundred years to wait, either."

I just glower at him, stuffing another mouthful of grain in my mouth. It swells in my mouth, and chewing is an effort almost beyond my reach, but I force it down. If not, he would probably just shove it down my throat anyway. Since when did nice, caring Peeta obtain this steely unwavering side?

By evening the same day, I'm forced to realise that his inconsiderate behaviour is just another form of kind-hearted caring, in a form that is specially designed to fracture my thick emotional body armour. Brusque force might be the only way, when everything else has failed. And as much as I try to resist, it's working. Two days of food and distractions has me faintly energized, and I find I can think more clearly than before.

I stay awake for slightly longer periods of time. My legs are sore from long disuse, but I take to walking back and forth in the kitchen, trying them out. Thankfully, he still says very little to me, choosing wisely not to interfere with my twisted mind just yet.

On the third day, he drags me out of the house for the first time, despite my best protests. I'm scared out of my wits. Eventually though, I decide to numbly go along with it, determined not to take in any impression, so that I can return safely to my dark place once I'm back inside. It's easier that way. My minds fills with the picture of an old dragon, too old and worn out to breathe flames and indifferent to the passing of time, emerging from its lair with great wariness. The analogy would perhaps be more accurate if I didn't look so feeble.

There are just too many colours outside, the sunshine giving even the dull surroundings in what used to be Victor's Village a happy tint. In comparison, my appearance is bleak, my skin, hair, eyes and clothes all a scale of washed-out greys. I despise it bitterly, and direct a scowl at nothing in particular, just in case. Hostility is the last shred of protection I've got.

One step at a time, at a reluctant pace, I follow Peeta down the road that leads to town. I try my best to keep my eyes stubbornly trained on the street, afraid of what I might see if I look up. I have no idea what District 12 looks like these days. However, my senses betray me, as Peeta keeps pointing out changes, new things and places that have stayed the same, and my eyes snap up each time to see for myself as my interest piques. How does he know exactly what to do to get under my skin? Before I know it, we're at the old town square, a place that I have always connected with fear and hatred. I have known too much pain here, on my own account and on others, and just being here brings out a cold sweat over my whole body.

What I see here now is very different. I find myself staring around in wonder, frozen in place as I take it in.

There are more people here than I could ever have imagined would return, now that the whole of Panem is open for settlement. Construction to rebuild houses is well under way all around the large open expanse. I hear people shouting to each other, the noise of hammers and saws, the creaking of wagons that are used to bring in new material and bring out the remains of what was once here. There are even children here, running around and playing more than they're helping their parents. The overall atmosphere is optimistic, hopes and dreams about the future emanating off people's faces. I can't remember the last time I heard the sound of laughter, but it's all around me here. It completely overwhelms me.

Beyond the first impression, I immediately notice the destruction. The ruins of our old town are still a desolate wasteland in many places. I can still smell the smoke and ashes that was all that remained here after the firebombing last year. Peeta tells me that they have set up a mass grave in the meadow near where my old home used to be, for all the victims of the Capitols rage. He asks me if I want to visit, but at that thought, my horrendous dream from two nights ago resurfaces. Ashes…

I suddenly can't breathe, and my eyes cloud over. It seems the sun has disappeared completely, and before my eyes, the men and women morph into visions of ghouls approaching, screaming out their despair at me from the other side of the grave. The sound of children laughing sounds screeching to my ears, too much like the sound of children screaming as fire devours them.

They know I ought to be dead.

Peeta shakes me until I can finally focus my eyes enough to see him before me, his blue irises glittering in sunlight.

"Katniss, you're fine. Snap out of it. We won't go there, not now." His voice is kind and patient, not at all disturbed by my sudden fit. Of course, he if anyone would know what it feels like. Perhaps I should ask him if it was real or not, but the problem is, I don't know in which end to start. I'm quite certain all those kids did actually die.

After that, apparently even Peeta deems it enough for one day, and I trudge my way slowly back to the house. As much as I want to, I can't quite shake off the impact that the outside world has had on me. The progress of other people is… nagging. And just a little inspiring.

That evening, curled up in my rocker once again, I remember that my sister is scheduled for a visit in two days time. Is it really fair of me to behave this way, when I should really be thanking the stars for keeping her alive? How much worse off would I be, if I had been faced with the loss of her, too? But the thought of snapping out of this daze completely is still exhausting, daunting and frankly, beyond my capacity.

_Give me time, Prim, _I beg silently. Perhaps with time I will forget, or come to terms with my actions. I suppose the former is more likely. It seems my mind is already working towards oblivion, setting up defence against too many bad memories, and feeding me altered versions of reality instead. That would explain my current state of confusion. My thoughts were never this preoccupied with old tales and creatures of my imagination before. In a few years, maybe they will have taken over completely, erasing all invading bad memories and leaving me in peace.

Peace? Do I really want to be left with no recollection of my life this far, even if it means being able to face the day?

_No!_ My subconscious screams at me, suddenly awakened. _That would mean forgetting _him _too._ A dozen pictures swarm my head at once, swimming around before my unseeing eyes. Gale, the day we first met and he smiled at me. The liberation I used to feel whenever it was just him and me, sitting hunched together in our place in the woods. His distorted face, when I was chosen to represent our district in the Hunger Games. The feeling of his warm lips on mine, the first time he kissed me. How soft his face looked just after. But also his anger, the inner force that would always keep him going no matter what. I used to have that too, I think.

No. I most definitely can't forget about him. That would mean losing myself completely, since everything that is _me _is also him. Therefore, the hard road is my only option; I can't let myself off this easily.

All night, I drift in and out of sleep, trying with all my might to hang on to that previous clarity in my head for long enough to form a plan. When the first tendrils of daylight begin to creep around the shutters in the kitchen, I think I know at least where to start.

Delirious from lack of sleep, I stumble up the stairs to my room, retrieving my fathers' jacket and my trusty bow and arrows. I even think to redress, slipping on old sturdy tights, boots and a worn soft shirt. When I remerge downstairs, Peeta is just coming in the front door, and a whiff of fresh bread fills my nose once again. I think my belly is beginning to anticipate that, as it growls hungrily. Huh. He'd be insufferably smug if he knew.

Peeta looks genuinely surprised to see me up and moving, but recovers quickly.

"Going hunting?" he asks, stating the obvious to my irritation. He also looks a little dubious, probably about my capacity for making it out the fence.

"I have somewhere I need to go," I say curtly, snatching a bread roll out of the small basket in his hands. He assesses me critically.

"At least sit down for a proper breakfast first." It's not a question; he knows I don't answer those.

I'm about to start arguing with him on sheer reflex, but stop myself when I think about what I have in mind for today. Perhaps a large breakfast wouldn't be a bad idea, considering my inability to remember to feed myself lately. I sit down at the kitchen table without further ado, much to Peeta's surprise. He sets about boiling us eggs and making tea.

"So, where are you going then? I should know, just in case," he hurriedly adds when he sees my frown. Jeez, him and his never-faulting logic.

"It's quite a hike…" I reluctantly begin. Somehow, I don't like speaking about the place to others.

"You sure that's a good idea?" Peeta sounds worried, and I scoff at his disbelief my capability.

"I'm fine on my own," I declare, but as soon as the words are out of my mouth I realise how hollow that sounds, after the last few months. "It's a house by a lake. If I don't make it back today, I'll just stay the night there," I relent.

He looks at me sceptically for a moment, but then shrugs.

"I suppose you know what you're doing. Just take some food with you."

I give a short nod, stuffing some leftovers in the pocket of my jacket. I'm increasingly anxious to be off now, so will he please stop fussing? Before I'm out the door, he calls after me:

"Oh, and Katniss?"

I turn around, wondering what else he could possibly object on. Instead, I'm met with a small, but true, smile. It's the first one I've gotten from since… since we were in the Games together, for the second time.

"It's good to see you up."

I'm struck by how genuinely pleased he looks at this. After all, his patience has paid off.

"Thank you."

My words are quiet, but sincere. It's not much, but it's a first attempt at repaying his kindness, and a first attempt for me to move forward.


	3. Goldilocks and the Bear

**A/n: **Part three is finally here! After a lot of thinking and a having a hard time to make up my mind I give you: another filler chapter (yaay). Hmm. I had this part in between that i just didn't know what to do with, before the real stuff can begin. Then today I went on a giant walk in the forest with my family's dog, and really felt like writing this.

I have never ever been to the US, so I haven't got the slightest idea what the forest is like over there, and I felt it would just be stupid to try to make something up. Thus, I have simply transfered the whole thing into a more Nordic setting, and I hope you'll forgive me ;) My story world is perhaps a little biased too, but really, nothing describes the magic i want to infer this story with better than this place in the summer time.

Next chapter will be up soon, and it's going to be good... In the meantime, please review if you have a spare minute!

* * *

The walk through town is almost the worst part. Despite the early hour, I'm far from alone on the streets, and I can't hide from the scrutiny of every single person I pass. If I know any of them, they don't acknowledge me and I stare fixedly ahead, trying not to see or hear what people have to say about me. I imagine them all whispering conspiratorially behind my back, wondering at the sight of their Mockingjay, in ruins to match her hometown. Haymitch told me once a few weeks back that he overheard some kids sneaking around outside his house. They were whispering about a rumour of the _haunted village_, and daring each other to go closer, take a peek inside. Apparently, the younger kids are making a big deal out of it, saying that the only reason Victors Village was spared from the bombing last year was because it was already cursed. Fair enough guess I'd say; living there was another damnation for us troubled souls who survived the Games, and I do indeed feel like a ghost of the past. But I don't want to any more.

Once at the fence, I relax. I slip under the still-standing railings and emerge on the other side, walking swiftly until I'm surrounded by trees and swallowed up by the forest. Its serene calm hits me at once, and I stand still for a long time, letting the familiar noises and smells flow though me until I'm finally reacquainted with the place. I hadn't really noticed before, but it's early summer. The trees and bushes around me are bright shades of green, bursting with life. Patches of flowers stand out at close intervals here in the thinner part of the forest, colouring the forest floor in whites, reds, purples, blue and yellows. At first it's quiet, too quiet to my ears after the buzzing of people in town, but then gradually, nature comes to life in my ears. Leaves rustle, stray birds call to each other and close by, some small animal rushes through the undergrowth. If I close my eyes and fine-tune my hearing, I can just discern the distant, heavy movements of something bigger. Like an actual ghost of the past, my hunting senses resurface, enhancing my attention. I let it stay at that though, hesitant to rediscover too much in one day. Besides, I don't know how I would handle killing even the smallest of squirrels, so I had better not chance it.

The best part of being outside town is the air, crisp and clean but still overflowing my senses with rich scents. My previous worries about returning here vanish as I breathe in long deep lungfuls. This place is full of memories that I am reluctant to face, and I know that it will be painful coming here for a long time still. But my mind is as clear as the sky overhead, and my heart beats a steady rhythm by old habit, keeping pace with the forest life. Yes, I can do this, if only my legs will carry me.

As I start off into the depths of the forest, clouds roll in to cover the sun, until the entire sky is a dense but mild grey colour. Summer rain hangs in the air, and the light beneath the treetops turns dim. I prefer it this way though. Sunshine was a bit too intrusive for my mood, and I love the smell of the woods when it rains, the sound of raindrops against a million leaves. Soon, I pass the place where I would usually trail off and climb up to Gale's and my old meeting spot. I stop for a moment, my head turned to the right, filled with equal parts longing and trepidation. Then my legs start moving on their own accord again, urging me forward to my great relief. Another day, perhaps.

Further into the woods, there's a small clearing, where the grass grows high and the ground is muddy. In the autumn after heavy rainfalls, a small water hole forms here, which draws in the forest animals. We would sit hidden in the outskirts for hours, sometimes with me up in a tree, waiting to catch a deer off guard. In those quiet moments, when we were huddled together, I remember I would hear Gale's heart beating, and his breathing, in perfect tune with my own. It seems strange now that I thought nothing of it then, and to know that perhaps he did. Does that make me a cold person? I would like to think I was just focused on other things, but that's probably to flatter myself.

As the rain starts to fall in earnest, I reach the point where a much smaller trail leads off, away from the tracks I usually follow on hunts. I'm surprised to see there's still a trail at all, even if it's barely distinguishable in the thick undergrowth. I follow the winding path, which leads into denser vegetation, a more savage part of the forest. In the dim grey daylight, it's easy to imagine creatures living here that are less than friendly to intruders. After a while, the ground starts to incline. I climb higher and higher across the rocky landscape, the thick moss under my feet making my feet sink down and the ascent slightly more difficult. If my father were here, he'd tell me this is the kind of forest where trolls live. He used to say trolls could disguise themselves as huge boulders, the moss layers really being their clothing and the wines of evergreen above, their hair. If not careful enough, one would risk waking them up, and then, terrible thing could happen. He would tell me that smaller trolls live beneath the rocks instead, and could only be detected from a sudden rustling noise or a low branch swinging ahead, as they scurry away. As it is, I think he would feed me these legends to train and sharpen my senses, like people probably have for ages before us, to teach children the ways of the forest. Still, the woods here undoubtedly hold a special kind of magic. I'm always a little extra tense when passing through here, on my guard against other predators on the hunt.

At the rather flat peak, where before me the ground starts to gently slope downhill, I suddenly halt my steps. Some fifty feet in front of me, a huge bear steps out into the small clearing. The trees are further apart up here, and mainly consists of sparsely covering firs. Thus, between it and me are nothing but green soft moss through which long stalks crowned with white flowers stick up, glowing like lights in the gloom. The bear stops too, regarding me steadily. I think it knows, that despite my weapon and my hunting skills, I don't pose any real threat. I think it can se my weakness, sense my doubts and my frayed will. If it came down to me against the bear, I would lose, and it knows that. Giving me a long look, as if to say _get off my land_, the bear slowly makes it way back into the trees, its powerful black form disappearing from my sight. I'm stuck in place for another long moment, before I can get my limbs to start responding again. Get a grip, I tell myself. It's not like I've never encountered bears, or other potential dangers, before. In fact, I have never hesitated before to face danger in these woods. At the least it was a normal, perfectly real, black bear. If, for example, I had been convinced I'd seen a troll, then it would have been an actual cause of concern. Still I hurry, on shaky legs, down the rest of the slope, and relax only when my feet are once again on level ground. Adrenaline courses through my system, and my heart is beating furiously as I come down from the natural reaction to danger that my worn-out body apparently still can procure when needed. Strangely, I let out a short breathy laugh that no one can hear but myself. I haven't felt so alive in ages!

In total, it takes me long, agonising hours, and I have to stop for breaks to still my shivering legs too often for my patience, but at last, I get there. The sun is well past noon, and I'm exhausted beyond my wits when I step out of the tree line on to the open grassland that surrounds the lake, which stretches out hundreds of feet before me. The rain stopped a while ago, and stray sunrays find their way through the thin cover of clouds, making the water sparkle. I take a deep breath, relieved that I actually made it the whole way here.

I love this place.

I can't say precisely why I felt the need to go all this way; it was an act based on instinct, a sort of longing to be here. The lake house brought me solace after my father's death, and seemed like a good place to finally face the mourning of many others. Perhaps I needed to make sure that it was _real_, grasping at straws to put my world together again.

Close to the near shore sits the little cabin, weatherworn and aged but still as inviting as ever. My feet shuffle clumsily as I close the last distance at a slow pace. The closer I get, the more a strange feeling creeps up on me, manages to permeate even the exhausted one-track of my mind. Something is different about this place.

It's just a sensation, a sixth sense deep within that tells me to be extra aware. I carefully approach the three steps leading onto a small deck before the entrance. When I reach the front door, which creaks open noisily at my push, I finally connect the pieces. The first thing that hits me is the scent, the lack of stale air that used to greet me whenever I came here before. Instead, I smell lingering smoke from a fire, old leather and fresh game. It's bright inside, the shutters on the windows that I would always leave in place are open wide and daylight fills every corner of the one small room. There's wood piled up in front of the fireplace, and on the bench lining the left-hand wall I can see scattered articles of clothing, food stacked underneath it.

_Someone lives here._

Disbelieving, I take a step inside and gape at the setting. It's well in order, neat even. On a wooden hook just inside the door hangs a cotton shirt, and on a low stool just to the right of it are stacked a few dishes, a tin cup and plate.

Pacing a slow circle around the square room, I look through the stuff more closely. It feels wrong, intruding on someone's life, but I'm too fascinated to care. Also, I'm not quite sure if this is real, or if my mind is playing tricks on me again from sheer exhaustion. My sight is a bit blurry, after all. Father would keep the cabin homey for us, back when we came here regularly during the summers of my childhood, and I can almost imagine him walking in through the door right now. I just feel… so much at ease, that it could only be his doing.

But no matter how crazy I have become, I know for a fact he's long gone. However, it is true that I always felt close to my father here in this place, and thinking about him now is not as painful as it is otherwise. I sit down on a stale mattress in the far right corner. Beside the fireplace, I find a small bowl of roasted chestnuts, and pick up one, absentmindedly nibbling on it.

It's strange, I think, how occupied my mind has been today with thought of my long-dead father. Perhaps I'm subconsciously trying to recall how I dealt with his death, for some inkling of what to do about Gale being gone, too. The only thing I _do_ know, is that so far, I've dealt with the loss much like my mother did when father died, and from a first hand perspective, I know that's no pretty sight. I wonder, what would he say if he saw me like this? As a child, and in many ways ever since then, I have formed my moral compass based solely on not letting my father down. It was the worst thing I knew when I was younger, since I wanted nothing more than to be just like him.

In the woods, father used to tell me stories as a means to pass the time, and also because he evidently liked telling them. His voice would be rising and falling, morphing into strange pitches as the characters took form, his demeanour and exaggerated gestures weaving the narrative on. I would hang by his every word, commit them closely to memory. The story that pops into my head now is strangely fit, to the point where I am quite certain this is just another dream.

Just like Goldilocks in the fairy tale, I am too daring for my own good, having gone out alone in the woods. I have stumbled upon and entered unbidden the home of strangers, devoured their food and taken advantage of someone's bed. In the story, this would have been the sleeping place belonging to the smallest of three bears, and when I wake up, they will have returned home to find me here, an intruder in their dwelling. That's the part when the little girl in the story has to face the consequences of her exploits, and ends up running home screaming for her mother.

I may not be golden-haired and childishly naïve, but apparently I'm just as audacious and easily beguiled as Goldilocks. I wonder idly what creature of the woods will come home to find me here. I have had enough of bears for one day, that's for sure. My head is spinning freely now, but despite that, I can feel no fear. The tart flavour of chestnut makes me think of another time I've been here, one that is a sweet and a bitter memory all in one. Gale said he loved me for the first time when I sat in this exact same spot, what feels like an eternity ago. I wonder how thing would have gone, had I found it in me to tell him the same thing in return. A frayed hole swells up in my chest at the thought, and I feel a huge pressure build up behind my eyes of sorrow wanting to break free. Now that the first chock of loss has finally sunk in, I miss him desperately. Too tired to break down right at the moment, I lie down on the mattress and sweep the covers tight around my body. If I imagine that the heat from the coals in the fireplace is his warm body against mine, I find I can hold back the pain a little longer. Comfortingly, it even smells a bit like him in here.

As I drift off, the image of Gale's face is etched behind my closed eyes, clearer and more real than I've been able to recall it for a long time. I breathe easy, and finally, peaceful sleep encloses me.


	4. Twilight Hour

**A/n: **As promised, a quick update! Are you ready for this? Here comes the real fairy tale magic of this story...

Thanks a million to those who reviewed, and most of all to **everyturnasurprise **and **Tara**, who i couldn't answer in person. I think most of your guesses will be answered in this chapter ;) Anyway, prince charming is a bit on the soft side i think, so I'll leave the charming to someone else and just let Gale be... himself. Oops, maybe I've said too much now, better stop talking... (_wiggling one eyebrow at you_)

Letting me know you're reading makes me very happy, so review if you want to put a smile on my face!

Now: Enjoy! Xx

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I wake up gradually, feeling disoriented but unusually relaxed. The sun is coming in at an angle, casting long shadows over the coarse floorboards. Outside, the evening birds have picked up their song. The long hours of sunlight this time of year are confusing my senses, and it's still bright outside even though I've slept for hours. I stretch out, lazily flexing my toes. Little goose bumps have formed on my arms from the early night time air that is seeping in from outside. Slowly, I sit up and look around the little cabin, every breath I take strangely disturbing the peace and quiet here. It's almost magical, and I'm loath to break the calm bubble surrounding me. My eyes follow the dust motes swirling in the light from the window beside me. Through it I can see the lake stretching out, vast but still. The setting sun is playing with the blue colour of the water, shifting in green, yellow, purple. At the far side, the forest is already cast in shadows

And through the dusty, grimy little panel of glass, I can just about make out a dark figure emerging from those trees, heading towards the cabin along the shore of the lake with long strides. I stare, frozen in place. Obviously someone has been living here, but I hadn't considered the possibility of that person returning while I'm here. Perhaps I should be nervous, or frightened even, having just crashed someone's home. But all I can feel is still that sense of belonging, a conviction that whoever is approaching doesn't pose any danger to me.

I find myself drifting out the door, onto the small porch on top of the steps. I have to get a better look at the figure approaching. He, for I am certain it is a man from the fluid, strong way he moves, hasn't seen me yet. With the sun setting from behind his back, I was all but invisible trough my window from his distance. Now though, I vaguely see him scanning his surroundings in a way that indicates it's a habit, and his eyes automatically snap to me as I emerge from the cabin. A hunter then, his reflexes keen on the slightest movement. He halts his steps momentarily, as if assessing the situation. Or maybe he's just surprised, I think.

My entire body is buzzing with anticipation. In this surreal moment, I feel like I'm hovering above my own body, my consciousness detached.

When the figure starts towards me again, it's with a new purpose in his steps. Soon, he steps out of the shadows of the setting sun, and tilted rays shine down on him for my eyes to see. Dark hair, unshaved face, tanned olive skin visible on his forearms where they're not covered in a durable cotton shirt. He's carrying a heavy sack over his shoulder, and some sort of contraption made from weaved grass in one hand.

My heart starts beating heavy in my chest, so loud I can hear it in my ears. I start drifting down off the deck without really meaning to, taking slow careful steps as if still afraid I'll break the spell in this strange, dreamlike world I've woken up to.

A cautious distance away from me, he stops. I halt my steps too, and stand there, weighting restlessly on the balls of my feet and with my heart pounding furiously. I stare into his face, so achingly familiar to me and yet so incomprehensive that I can't get my head around it.

I remember suddenly another story told to me in this very place by my father once, originating from the old days when superstition was a natural part of human life and the distinction between myth and reality wasn't so sharp. The people living here would believe that sunset, when day and night struggle for power over the woods, was a supernatural hour in the human world. At twilight, the forces separating one realm from another would blur, and anything could happen, anything was possible.

Now here he is, the very person I came to reconcile my loss of, just a few short steps away. Slowly, carefully, I cross that last distance, the whole time afraid I'll break some invisible barrier, and he'll disappear before my eyes. He stays put though, his stormy grey eyes boring right into my wide ones.

"Did you know, in the old times, people thought that at twilight, the separation between living and dead would disappear," I say, mumbling so as not to disturb the silence. "Which one are you?"

I almost flinch in surprise when he actually answers me.

"I hardly know any more." His voice is hoarse, like it hasn't been used in a long time. I notice his hair has grown well out of the short crop he wore the last time I saw him, and his face is covered in rough stubble. It makes him look older, along with the uneasy crease between his eyes. But it's no doubt _him_, thinner than I remember but seemingly in good health. This last fact makes it all seem a little bit less unreal, since except for myself, he'd be the most capable person I know to survive in the woods alone.

Trembling slightly, I reach out my hand towards his, just barely daring to touch the skin. His hand is warm and feels very much alive, rough and calloused like I remember it, so I gently fold my hand around his, and lift it to hold it between both of mine. As if drawn in by gravity, I move closer until our bodies are inches apart. He lets me, and when I look up into his eyes again, they've lost some of their guarded hard edges. Still, he shows no sign of surprise, or happiness even, to see me. I can feel my brows draw together in a mirror image of his face. Perhaps this is just another weird dream, a nightmare about to unfold. I press my eyelids tight, holding his hand up to my lips.

"Me either," I whisper into it. "Gale. They said you were dead."

Hesitantly I feel his hand unfold from mine, gently stroking a loose strand of hair from my forehead, then a light touch along my cheekbone. I think I hear him sigh, quietly but heavily, and then he's pulling away. Confused, with my arms falling back along my sides, I watch him grab his packing and start towards the edge of the lake. His next words are so out of place that they barely go through the haze in my mind.

"Come on, dinner won't cook itself in the dark."

Suddenly, it's like a spell has been broken, and I'm blinking furiously, trying to keep up with the turn of events. I'm terrified at once, expecting him to walk into the sweeping mist that is forming on the shores of the lake and vanish from me again. That it's all just a twisted way of losing him all over again.

"Gale! Wait!" I croak out desperately, and he turns around to look at me questioningly. Then I'm running to him, flinging myself without care around his neck and pressing myself as close to him as possible.

"Don't leave me," I say in a shaky voice. Then, something that is barely more than a whisper, little more than a thought; "I so desperately want you to be real."

When his arms settle around me, I'm so relieved I could cry. I bury my face against his throat, breathing in short gasps in the scent of him, familiar to the point where my head is spinning. His voice, on the other hand, is steady when he answers against my hair.

"Don't worry, Catnip. I'm here alright." There's even a hint of laughter in there. The sound of my old nickname causes my heart to clench, a glimpse of a time when he used to be mine. Too soon he breaks away again, untangling himself from me gently and holding me out at arms length.

"I wasn't joking about food though. I'm starved, and you look like you could use a meal yourself." He says the last part with a critical look at my appearance. Very frank. Practical. Very Gale.

He picks up the sack, which I now realise is a newly made game bag, and walks the remaining distance down to the lake, me following close after in a daze. At the lakefront, he has arranged a few thick logs into benches, and built up a steady fireplace in the centre of them. I watch his sure hands as he unlaces the bag to draw out a small wild turkey, freshly snared. Automatically, I hold out my hand to take it off him, and he hands me the dead animal without hesitation.

Now this is something I do know how to handle. Picking the feathers off the bird and readying it for cooking is a very real task. As Gale moves around the little space to get a fire going and fill up water in the basket he brought with him, I keep my hands busy but my wide eyes trained on him.

Most likely, this is actually happening. Racking my brain, I can find none of the usual signs of delirium, nothing to indicate otherwise. But how is it possible? I'm so confused that my mind just keeps going in circles, and I can think of nothing to say to him even though I've wanted nothing but to talk to him again for months.

Perhaps talking isn't exactly all from him, though… I soon find myself absorbed in the agile movements of his body, watching with rapt attention the deft motion in his strong hands. I can vaguely remember the feeling of those fingers against me, from the few moments before when I've allowed myself the luxury of his touch. It's not nearly enough. My skin tingles in longing, and I wish I would have the courage to cover the distance between us across the fire and sit close to him. If he would let me, I'd want to trace the outline of his face to re-establish it in my memory. I'd tell him how I always imagine him beside me anytime I fall asleep. Most of all, I feel an acute need to be near him, in order to be complete. But he keeps his distance, giving nothing away. I used to be able to tell what he's thinking just by reading his body, but now he keeps me closed off, on purpose I'm sure. It's the why that eludes me. His silence rings in my ears, forms a lump in my throat.

Soon, he has a few wild roots baking in the coals, and the bird roasting above. He sits down on the log opposite mine and leans forward, resting his arms on his thighs. I swallow and pick up my courage from the pit of my stomach.

"How long have you been out here?"

He shrugs a little. "Few months. Figured this place would be up for the taking."

Is he not telling me things on purpose? A million questions are spinning around in my head. I pick the easiest one.

"What happened?"

His eyes flash to mine, then away, staring into the fire.

"You saw what happened, Katniss," he says darkly.

I feel a stab of guilt. Yes, I saw him bring captured, and I knew I was supposed to shoot him, prevent him from falling into the enemy's grasp. Surely he understands that I couldn't? And he's alive! Whatever happened, it's damn lucky I didn't shoot him, but he doesn't seem to be agreeing.

"I don't understand," I press quietly, probably looking as lost as I feel.

Gale sighs, pulls his fingers through his hair once, like he used to do when debating with himself over something.

"They dragged me away," he begins again, and I listen closely. As far as I know, they would have had to beat him up pretty badly if they were able to drag him anywhere, and the thought makes me cringe.

"I thought they were going to take me straight to the presidents house, but when we got there… well, it was pure chaos, so they were going to put me away somewhere safe until the rebellion passed."

He pauses to stir around the fire, still refusing to look up at me. I have a strong feeling there's something he doesn't want to tell me, but decide to let it pass for now.

"I woke up maybe a few days later, out in the middle of nowhere on a train. There were dead Peacekeepers all around me, and long story short, the train had been taken over by an independent rebel group out in the country. I think they recognised me, because they weren't very keen on letting me back to the Capitol. Heard some news every now and then, when the war was over, and I just… decided there wasn't much to go back for, so well… I came here," he finishes.

I frown at the obvious holes in that story. This does not sound like the Gale I thought I knew better than even myself. I'm about to ask him more questions, but instead he counters with one of his own.

"Why are you here?" It's almost an accusation.

It's my turn to shrug then. "I used to like coming here," I just say.

"So, how's Peeta?" he says then, to my great bewilderment.

"Peeta? Fine I guess. He was the one to tell me to get out of the house." I say this without any thoughts on how it might sound, or what it might imply. To me, it's such a remote topic from anything happening here, that I can't guess at why he's bringing it up.

I can't really see in the dusky half-light, but Gale's face seems to darken a bit at hearing this. Without further ado, he gets up to put the food on two old tin plates. He hands me one, and we sit in silence eating while I keep fixing my eyes on him and contemplate his words. By now, the sun has set behind the woods and only a faint light lingers over the lake. Also, I'm now pretty convinced that this is actually happening, and not some new fickle trick of my mind. The meal has restored some focus to my brain, so in a way it seems even more incredible that he's alive, despite everything, and here with me. A tiny spark of hope flares up in my chest and threatens to break out as a smile, before I remember he doesn't really seem to be in sync with my mood. I set down my plate and walk over to stand before him, forcing him to look at me.

"Why didn't you come back?"

He looks straight into my eyes while thinking his answer over, and I'm momentarily lost in them, just looking back. Was he always this handsome, beautiful even? There's nothing guarded about his eyes any more. As he answers me honestly, the hard mask melts off his face.

"I…" he stutters, clearly agitated. "I just didn't know what I would find. I couldn't stand the thought of loosing… everything. So I hid out here. Heard you'd gone insane." He smiles a small, wry smile. Is he saying it's about me? And if he is, is that a good or a bad sign, considering where I want this to go? I respond with a self-conscious smile of my own.

"I think I did, for a while." While we're being honest. Then I stop smiling. "I can't handle it, all the guilt, all those people dead…" In shame, my eyes avert his, focusing on a point far out in the lake. Before he replies, I spot a fish jumping, breaking the mirror-like surface.

"Is that why you want me to be real? Because you feel guilty?"

"Partly," I admit. It's pointless trying to hide things from Gale, even if it's the truth of how selfish I have become. Suddenly I'm overwhelmed by sadness again.

Maybe that's what he realised long ago. Maybe I stopped being someone special in his eyes when I first started breaking down. Maybe, seeing me like this now, he wants nothing to do with me anymore. I wouldn't really be surprised, what with the state of me. To hide my discomfort, I turn away and start putting the makeshift kitchen back in order. I put out the fire, and Gale gathers all the utensils back together. Then he stands ready to head back up to the cabin, looking at me quizzically again.

"You can't make it back to 12 tonight. Won't they… I mean, won't _he_ wonder where you've gone?"

Oh, that's right. What with the recent turn of event, I had forgotten all else. Now, I feel unsure about intruding any further on his hospitality, but I don't have much of a choice.

"I said I might stay out for the night if I made it all the way here. I've been in better shape," I add reluctantly.

Gale nods, and starts up to the house ahead of me.

I'm confused again, what's with all this talk of Peeta? Then it clicks together in my mind. Maybe Gale, like my mother, would assume Peeta and I to be inseparable now that the danger of impeding death has passed. He might think we are together in Victors Village, living our happy ever after. Although how could he really, after all that we've been through? Wouldn't he know I was always his, like I've always thought of him as mine? I shoot a glance at him, walking steady beside me. That hard crease between his eyes is back in place again, and I realise it's more defensive than anything. Maybe I'm not the only one broken and confused about myself after this terrible war.

"Gale" I say softly behind him as he opens the door to the cabin. "The only reason Peeta would know I'm out here is because he's in town visiting. We don't… I mean, we're nor even friends any more."

I don't know exactly why I tell him this, but I instinctively know it's the right thing to say when I see his shoulders relax a little. Perhaps I can fix this, I think; I certainly owe it to both of us to try my best.


	5. A Lovestory

**A/n:** First of all: _thank you_ a million times over! :D I've never gotten that many, or such kind, reviews ever before, and you have no idea how happy they made me, really! Grinning like an idiot first thing in morning is kinda nice. I'm happy a lot of you liked my little Twilight- analogy, since I liked that one myself... I haven't found time to respond to all of your wonderful comments, but bottom line is: thanks (again)!

For this chapter, we're gonna take a break from the fairy tales, since I think this is enough in itself, and because Katniss is rather sane for the moment. As for more answers of Gale and his whereabouts, that'll have to wait until next chapter.

Did I hear someone requesting a kiss here..? To those of you who did, your reward is near. Yeah, this chapter would probably be considered **M-rated**, so uhm... beware, or enjoy, whichever suits you ;)

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Inside the cabin, Gale stops to stare at the mess I've made of his sleeping place earlier.

"Took a catnap, did you?"

Oh fabulous, he hasn't lost his smug sense of humour_. _I feel colour creeping into my cheeks.

"I got really tired," I mutter to my defence. "Told you I've been in better shape."

When I risk a glance at him, I see a ghost of a grin plastered on his face. Almost a real grin, like he used to smile back when I was his best friend, and not someone who hurt him no matter what I did.

"Do you usually go to sleep in strange people's beds?" He teases me lightly, clearly relaxing and warming up to my company. Maybe he's in a bit of shock over finding me here, too, only handling it better than I am.

In return he gets a serious answer.

"It smells like home here. I felt safe," I say honestly, as I hang my jacket beside his on a peg on the wall just inside the door.

At this, he looks at me in a funny way, and there's something in his eyes that makes my belly flutter nervously, but in a good way. Discarding my boots and my jumper on a low chair, I move over to sit on the mattress, watching him go about little chores around the room. He seems so calm, and I can't understand it. Sure, we've had years of being just him and me, sharing our every day life out here in the woods, but never on these terms, not with this extra tension. For one thing, we haven't been alone together for more than a year. Those long months in District 13, I spent a lot of my waking time with Gale, but always under constant pressure. There was a war going on, and too many people to worry about, not to mention my emotional exhaustion over Peeta. All in all, the last year before Gale's supposed death was one long degeneration of our relationship, so it's not surprising if we are unsure of how to react to each other now. What more is, there's nothing to worry about. The world is no longer heavy on our shoulders, nor is the survival of our families, now that the tyranny of the Capitol has fallen. I certainly don't know how to be free, to live for just myself, and I suspect that neither does Gale. We can't hide behind outward pressure any more, and where does that leave us?

The small room seems to shrink until I can see only him, hear nothing but my heart thundering in my ears again. Finally, he stoops to take off his own boots, stretches up to peel off his outdoors shirt, and comes to sit beside me. The thick silence speaks volumes between us, but I can find nothing to say. The lump in my throat threatens to break out if I try. He must notice me staring. After all, I can make out every detail of his upper body through the thin undershirt. We gaze at each other in awkward silence for a long moment, until my composure falters and a single, hot tear rolls down my cheek, with more following in its wake. Distraught, he caves and opens his arms to me. I immediately scoot in under his arm and hug him tightly around the waist. My head rests on his shoulder, I feel him rest his cheek on the top of my head and then everything is perfect. It seems fitting, to reconnect with physical contact rather than words, since none of us were ever good with them anyway.

I breathe in the smell of him, musk and forest and smoke and everything I used to love about life. It helps me calm down, but I let the tears fall silently until there are no more, while he strokes my back reassuringly. He whispers my name quietly once.

After an eternity, I raise my face, because I have to ask the question that's eating me from inside. Rather than beat around the bush, I might as well go straight to the heart of the problem.

"Do you remember what you said to me the last time we were here?" I mumble, almost stumbling over my words. He meets my gaze, but his eyes are unreadable in the faint firelight. "Is that still true?"

For a second, he looks tired, dejected. Then he says,

"Does it even matter anymore?", effectively breaking my heart.

This is it, I realise. This is when I have to make him see I will never ever turn him down again, couldn't even if I wanted to. But I'm still a coward, so all I say is,

"Just answer me, please", my voice all small and pleading with him.

The silence is thick with unsaid words, and I feel I have never dreaded anything so much in my whole life. My life, my sanity, depends on him now, and I shut my eyes in anticipation of the worst.

Then I feel his hand caressing the hair over my ear, the tops of his fingers sliding down gently over my cheek, just a whisper of a touch. I dare open my eyes again, and find his so close to mine that I can see every little speck of colour in them.

"Why do you think I'm hiding out here, Katniss?" he breathes. "Of course I love you, so much I couldn't bare to lose you yet again." His voice is heartfelt and his eyes intent, silently begging me not to refuse him yet again.

Instinctively, I go for the physical response again. His lips are so close; I don't have to reach far at all. My stomach flutters wildly as I capture them with my own. They're warm and full and all _mine_. I breath in deeply through my nose, and it feels like the first breath after a spring rain, when the air is so crisp and clear I just want to fill my lungs to bursting.

My hand comes up to his neck, tangling in his hair to hold him in place, even though he shows no sign of pulling away. And then I'm kissing him, properly, and in a way it's our first kiss, because for the first time it's both our choice, and not something forced or desperate. All else disappears, and it's just me and him and the present moment. His hands leave my waist to cup my face reverently, stroking away the last traces of my tears with his thumbs. The tender gesture, and the adoring way his lips move against mine makes my heart clench and then swell, a small longing noise escaping my mouth.

As the kiss deepens, he pulls me up into his lap to get me even closer, and that's just fine by me. My blood runs hot in my veins, and I'm thinking he was right that time. This is what I need to survive; a reminder that I used to be the girl on fire.

Lost in the sensation of his body against mine, I lose track of time, but eventually he pulls back an inch to look at me. His eyes are hooded, lids heavy and their warm intensity makes my insides flutter again. He smiles a drowsy little smile at me, stroking my face which he is still holding with warm hands. There's a sense of contentment radiating from him, echoing my own, and my blood sings in ardour. I'm delighted I can make him look this way. However, he does also look extremely tired. The combination is somewhat funny, making him seem softer than I could ever imagine. I graze my swollen lips lightly with my teeth, as they curl up in a genuine smile, and a breathy little chuckle escapes me.

"What's so funny, Catnip?" he counters in a husky voice, laced with amusement. His stretching grin and sparkling eyes reveal that the question is only rhetorical. Nothing is _funny_ exactly, it's the sheer relief of our proximity that is making us giddy.

I steal one more kiss from his lips, just because it's a miracle that I can. On impulse, I put my lips to the tender skin just below his eye, wanting to see what it feels like, before I lean out of his embrace.

"Sleep?" I ask, and he nods, like he's relieved I'm suggesting it. Of course, he's probably had an exhausting day out in the woods. I'm pretty deadbeat myself, despite my earlier nap. After all, we have all time in the world for each other tomorrow. Sleeping without having to _imagine_ his arms around me is very alluring.

Suddenly, though, I feel almost shy. Gale and I may have shared our lives for years, but never once have we slept beside each other. Every other intimate moment I've ever experienced before seems quite innocent in comparison. We're all alone here, and his body heat is already making it hard for me to think straight. Seemingly without thinking about it, he stretches his arms up, and pulls off his undershirt in one swift movement. His hair comes out a little wild. I swallow once, staring at the toned muscles of his upper body, as if I never saw it before. I have, but under quite different circumstances. In this moment, it's almost frightening to think I'm probably allowed to touch him as much as I want to. That's certainly a novelty.

I'm sure my burning red cheeks must be visible even in the dark, and I can hear Gale chuckling softly, giving me a gentle kiss on the lips and then dragging me down with him on the mattress. As I curl into his side, my head comes to rest on his shoulder. His arm is slung around my waist, holding me closely, and I let my hand glide across his belly to clutch him in return, amazed at the feeling of his bare skin. Very warm, and very much happy to stay right here, I drift off to sleep in no time.

* * *

When I slowly begin to wake up again, it's early morning. I can tell from just listening to the silence; barely any birds are even up yet. I take a minute to wonder about my whereabouts, and this curious warm feeling that's lingering inside of me. I can't really wrap my head around the events of yesterday, as the events churning in my head all have a certain dreamlike quality to them. Drifting just beneath consciousness, reality is back to being a very abstract concept. However, the unmistakable presence of another body pressed close to mine is all the evidence I need.

My eyes flutter open, still only half awake, to see that during the night we have moved around. Gale has his back to me and my body is wrapped around him, curled up tight with one arm slung over his chest and my nose nestled in the fold by his neck. He's breathing regularly, still asleep. I can just make out a vein in his neck pulsating steadily, watch a lock of his hair fluttering with every lungful of air I let out. It's so peaceful, too perfect to interrupt, but I feel the urge to touch him, get to know every detail of his body. There's a chill in the air at this hour, seeping in through the little fissures in the door, but inside, I feel very warm.

Tentatively, I lift my hand to the top of his back, where his shoulder blade stands out, lines sharp in the dim light. There are little goose bumps on his arm, but along the side of his upper body, the skin is surprisingly soft. The faded but still prominent scars running in crisscross patterns all over are a cruel reminder of the past. I have a strong impulse to kiss every single one of them in apology, as if that would miraculously heal him. Instead, I slowly run my fingers along his side, enjoying the feeling of skin on skin. At his waist I turn, touching his spine all the way up again, then his neck, the soft hair there. I can't help but placing a kiss below his ear, pressing my body into his in the process. His sudden intake of breath tells me I've woken him up.

He says nothing, but turns over, first his head and then his whole body, facing me and looking straight into my eyes. I notice his are oddly awake, despite their drowsiness. And very intent, fiery even. The hunger inside me builds up quickly, having already been there when I woke up. Our eyes lock, searching one other, but finding nothing but longing. My lips part slightly in anticipation.

When we kiss this time, all traces of hesitance are gone. We start off gently enough, reconnecting where we left off last night with familiar touches and slow lips. His hand wanders from my waist up and down the length of my body, the other one cradling my cheek. I take my time searching the lines of his chest, the muscles of his upper arms, the silky quality of his hair. Soon, as synchronized as ever, we both seem to feel it's not enough. His lips on mine turn fervent, and then moves down to trail kisses along my jaw and neck.

It's intense, physical in a way I've never felt before, and it sweeps through my whole body, leaves no part of me unaffected. I'm absorbed, my mind far, far away. I just go with my senses, somehow knowing exactly what I want, what I need. His body is radiating warmth, too, and against my own, it feels wonderful. I wish there weren't so much clothing separating us. I run my hands over every bit of soft skin, tugging boldly at the waistband of his shorts when he rolls over, half pressing my body down with his. He mumbles something inaudible against my neck, which sends shivers down my spine, and complies. A sigh escapes me when he also lifts my shirt, peels off my leggings, and finally touches me. Against his calloused hands, with sleep lingering in my body, my skin is a million times more sensitive than usual. The way he carefully watches me as he runs his hands from my top to toe, across my left breast and over the inner junction of my thigh, has me almost panting, causes my lower belly to clench strangely.

I push at his chest to make him lie down instead, as for one thing I want a better look at him myself, and also, I don't know how much more of that I could stand before my body bursts on its own. Call me impatient. In the stories that I would sometimes find on my mothers bedside table when I was younger, I have read this moment described in various ways. I would sneak a peak at the descriptions with apprehensive curiosity, and wonder if it could _really _be all that dramatic. I bite my lip as I tentatively touch the hardness between his legs, wondering with a rush of blood to my face if those books would consider this _an impressive length_. I rather think so. His stifled groan stirs up my excitement further, and I want to feel him inside me, as close as physically possible. When I trail my tongue down his chest, pressing kisses to his hipbone and at last softly putting my lips on the top of his member, he suddenly tugs me up for a deep, needy kiss.

"I want you…" he breathes, echoing my own thought, as I surrender control to him once again. I can feel my pulse in strange places, but I have no doubts, as we are finally getting release for years of pent up want for each other.

After that, things escalate quickly, and soon we're both lost in heat, a fire too vital to put out, explosives sending me flying, seeing stars.

Afterwards, when we lie still in the silence, my body heavy and tingling, I realise there's something I've forgotten. I raise my head to look at him, see a smile playing on his lips. He has never looked more beautiful to me, in the orange light of dawn.

"Gale?" I nudge him with my nose against his cheek, and his heavy lids open to look down at me with soft eyes.

"I love you, you know," I say, my voice clear and not hesitating the least this time. "I always did. I just wasn't ready for it, before."

"Yeah," he says, and I can see mirth held back in his eyes. "I know."


	6. Tell me a story

**A/n: **Alright, finally a new update! I had thought that having a week off would mean loads and loads of time to write and publish, but well... Friends and family and sunshine are a nuisance, so it doesn't :p As it is, I'm way slower with updates than I thought I'd be, but as long as this story is complete before Summer's over... Next chapter will probably take a few days, since it's the only one I haven't even started yet. Review and I'll be quick ;)

Thanks for reading, and thanks again for the wonderful reviews on the previous chapter! Now, who wants to know more about why Gale pretended to be dead? I don't know if it's believable enough, but then again, it's kind of not the main point of this story. Either way, hope you like!

* * *

When the sun starts streaming in, steadily creeping closer inch by inch along the floor, it's a reminder that the world has not, indeed, stopped. We stretch, preparing to face the day. For me, that particular task has not felt this easy in a long time. My body prickles happily, a slight soreness reminding me that I'm alive.

Gale kisses me full on my lips once, and then again quickly with a small smile, before he gets up. I stretch pleasantly from head to toe once more, as I watch his naked body move around, his muscles flexing under the tanned skin. There's a certain lighthearted spring to his steps this morning, which warms my heart to see. He pulls on a pair of worn but sturdy shorts and throws me my underwear that got discarded haphazardly earlier. I take that as my cue to get up as well.

There's a comfortable silence between us as I get dressed and he pokes through his supplies, lays out a light breakfast for us on the front steps. Well, silence that is interrupted only by the humming melody that comes out of me without thinking about it. Gale looks up, a little startled, as he has never heard me willingly sing before. I blush a little, but am none too concerned, since it's a habit I've managed to pick up again since having too much time alone. Being with Gale this morning is as easy as being alone, only much better. He smiles at me in wonder, captures the notes against his lips for a second with once hand at my still bare waist. I can't help but to smile back at him.

When he opens the door, the sounds of the birds singing fills my ears, and the smell of clean air and fresh grass stirs up my glowing contentment further. I think I have never seen colours this brilliant before, overwhelmed by the green of the rustling leaves and the vivid blue of the lake. The air is crisp, but with a promise of warmth later on, as the sun rises higher in the sky. In a heady state of exhilaration, I'm thinking I have gone through hell and stumbled upon Neverland, since this place surely must have been sprinkled with fairy dust to be this beautiful. Hmm… On second thought, maybe an adult version of Neverland is a more accurate description, I smirk to myself, as I replay in my head what Gale just did to my body. The expression on his face as he pounded his hips hard into me, the blush spreading all the way to my chest as he kissed my in really inappropriate places, his throaty groan in my ear… Why did I get out of bed again?

We sit down for breakfast on the steps with the door wide open behind us and the morning sun in our eyes. There are a few chestnuts, blackberries, some cold meat left from last night's dinner, and warm mint tea. The tea settles my stomach and brings back only good memories of the past. It's peaceful. I sip on my tin cup, humming quietly to myself, watch Gale's naked toes flex in the sunshine. When we're done eating, there's still no stress, so I lean into his side, one arm around his leg. He wraps his arm around my shoulders in return.

"So, were you planning on avoiding me forever, then?" I ask, hoping he will tell me the whole story now, in the comfort of daylight. I don't believe for a second that my former unwillingness to love him was enough to keep him away from the real world.

I feel him tense up against me, suddenly pressing me closer into his side so that my head is trapped under his chin, against his shoulder. I count his heartbeats to ten before he answers.

"I thought that you would probably come out here, eventually," he says evasively, preoccupied with picking straws of grass between his toes. "And if not… If not, you wouldn't have been mine anyway."

"Or rather, not myself." I correct him, squeezing his hand. I don't want to think about the possibility that I wouldn't have been _his_. That seems too unfair.

He glances down to meet my gaze for a short moment, his eyes grateful. But also still very guarded…

"But you're not telling me all," I state, careful to keep any judgement out of my voice. He'll tell me if he's able to, otherwise it can wait.

He fidgets some more, his recent ease miles away. When he answers me this time, his voice is barely discernable, muffled against my hair.

"I'm afraid that if I tell you, you'll resent me."

I twist around to look up at him, and his arm slides off me to rest on his legs as he leans forward, away from me. I look searchingly into his face, where I can tell his eyes have gone hard, a frown deep set on his forehead. It's easy to imagine this is a mask he's been wearing permanently… since when? Beneath the hard surface, I can just about see a trace of guilt heavier than lead. A look that I'm very familiar with, since I've been wearing it myself ever since I came home from my first Hunger Games; it's the guilt of people dying because of you.

I resolutely grasp his hand, unwilling to relent contact, and stroke my fingers across his knuckles in a reassuring gesture.

"Tell me," I ask him quietly. I watch, my brow in deep lines, as he pulls his fingers through his hair, scratches his stubble in agitation.

"I can't, I… I did something terrible." He still won't look at me, staring off in the opposite direction.

That's when I know, see through his steely eyes to the hollow self-accusation beneath.

"The bomb," I say matter-of-factly.

His head whips around, wide eyes snapping down to mine.

"You know? How...?" There's incredulity in his raised eyebrows.

I contemplate my answer, straining my jaw while I search his eyes for any sign that the truth is beyond what he needs to know.

"I was there," I confess slowly, carefully assessing his reaction.

He's perfectly still, frozen with his stare locked in mine, and no matter how much I want to, I can't look away, because of the horror reflected there. His hold on my hand turns into a deathgrip.

"Is that where your scars are from?" His voice is only a whisper, wavering.

Oh crap. I hadn't even thought of that, but of course he would notice, having just devoured my entire naked body. And even though the new patches of skin are beginning to blend in, they're still among my most prominent features. A blush warms my cheeks, half from embarrassment and half from anger that he would take the blame of it upon himself.

"I'm fine," I try to convince him, but it seems to do little against the wild look spreading across his face. He turns away from me again suddenly, extracting his hand to cover his face with both of them.

"What else?" Apparently, he has also seen right through my attempt to cushion the blow of these news. His voice is thick with bleak dread.

In a voice so small and shaky I surprise myself, I croak out the second part of my confession, the one I know will hit him the hardest, because it affect me way beyond my own disfigurement. But I know he won't let up before he's heard it, and in a way I'm thankful it's me he hears it from, and not a stranger.

"Prim nearly died."

Fidgeting with my own fingers, I avoid looking at his face, but I can't escape the way his arm is shaking slightly where it is pressed close to mine.

"Did you figure it out?" he croaks, and the raw emotion in his tone rips at my heart. I don't have to ask him what me means, thankfully, but how do I answer him? _Yes, I noticed the clever, calculated, design of the bomb? Yes, I know, it was the same as the design you came up with in 13?Yes, and I never would have forgiven you, had she died?_

But no. Shaking my head, I know I have to focus on the important, actual facts. Yes, Gale is indeed frighteningly clever with traps, whatever the intended target. And yes, he did indeed use this cleverness for the purpose of war on other human beings. But everything else is far more relevant. There was a war going on, against a regime that killed innocent children in abundance each year. Said regime had just wiped out our entire district in one sweep. Secondly, the blame is ultimately not his. An idea is in fact just an idea, until someone puts it into action. I know Gale, and for all his faults, he is far from cold hearted. It was not his decision to use the invention at all, and certainly not for something involving dead children. Instead, Alma Coin had to die. Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly, Prim did _not _die. If anything, it was lucky, in a twisted and cruel way, that the contraption was of Gale's mind, since that made it possible for me to see the real danger while everyone else failed. And lastly, I believed him dead at the time. That fact overshadowed any blame I might have otherwise placed upon him, as grief made me realise my true priorities.

From his current submission into complete self-loathing, it's evident that he hasn't come to the same conclusion.

"I know what you're thinking," I say softly, and reach out to stroke back his hair over his ears. He flinches at the contact.

"And you're still here?" he asks me, with clear doubt.

I'm at a loss, having never before seen him in such a vulnerable state. Gale is the strongest person I know, and now here he is, a broken man. Funny enough, it only makes me love him more, since it proves he is only human, despite his tough exterior. The boy I once got to know and trusted with my own life if still inside, and not so deep down as I would have thought even. Somehow, my strength increases the more his own dwindles. But how do I console him?

I shrug. "Who am I to judge anyone? Thousands of people are dead because of me."

This snaps him out of his far-away trance of agony.

"But that was not your fault. You only meant to save the people you love, never for anyone to die." He searches _my_ eyes now, his own sincere and outraged. He's right, but only partly, and I shake my head tiredly.

"That only makes me naïve," I tell him, and now it's my turn to be unable to look him in the eye.

"And how is that as bad as intentionally murderous?" he counters in a hard voice. I can see this argument is getting us nowhere, and I hate it. Instead of forcing out more useless words, I rise to stand on the steps before him, with a light touch on his shoulders push him out of his forward dejected slump, and promptly sit down in his lap. My left arm go around his shoulders, my right hand pressing down his forehead against mine. If he's anything like me, close physical contact will make this at least a little bit easier for him.

"Tell me," I whisper again, because I know he can't support this burden all on his own. "We used to share everything before. I want it to be like that again."

I feel his hot breath against my lips as he exhales sharply, and I think it's a good sign when his shoulders relax a little underneath me. He puts his arms around my waist, clutches me tight, before the words start streaming out of him.

"It was true what I said, about waking up on a train in the middle of nowhere, full of people from a separate rebel group. They were from District 8 mostly, you know those who first started the whole uprising?" I nod in understanding.

"They… weren't very happy with the leadership of the soldiers from 13, and since I could be considered part of 13 command, they were really suspicious of me at first. Even when we heard the Capitol had fallen, none of them had any wish to go there to take part in the celebration or whatever, and they wouldn't let me go either. They thought that if Coin was made president, they could use me as a hostage, bargain some kind of deal for themselves. At first, I didn't understand what was their issue, but… I got to know some of them quite well, and they convinced me she had other motives than just overthrowing Snow. But of course, you had already figured than out." He gives me a humourless little smile, plays with the end of my brain when I nod absentmindedly.

"She wanted to break me," I say steely, a small bit of lasting anger welling up inside me. "She was going to make sure Prim died, and at the same time break us apart by placing the blame on you. Don't you see, Coin wanted you to feel this way?" I lift my head to look him straight in the eye. "She died for it. You can't let her win, after all this."

I have his attention again. Must have sparked his curiosity with that one. He studies me closely. "A lot of people wanted you dead for it."

"But you didn't come back," I say, a question hidden as a statement because I have a hard time forming it. I spent weeks in isolation, almost going insane over losing you, I want to tell him. Somehow though, I don't think that would be very helpful. And I think he can tell by my tone, anyway.

"I just… when I heard about the bomb, I knew at once it was my design. It doesn't even matter who used it for their purposes, it was _my idea._ And all those kids…" He squirms, but has nowhere to hide with me surrounding him, so he settles for staring up into the sky above.

"It's not your fault, Gale," I say softly, stroking his cheek with the tips of my fingers. Never have I seen him closer to tears, and I wonder if he could shed any, even if he wanted to, after all these years of staying strong for others.

"But how can you say that, when you just said your sister almost…"

"She didn't," I say evenly, hoping he'll finally listen to me. "Gale… I never blamed you. I did, however, kill the person responsible."

"So I heard. And after that, everyone said you'd gone insane, that you were no longer yourself, and that was too much to face, I just wanted to stay away even more. Katniss," he chokes a little on my name. "I've been such a coward these last few months… When the war was over, and you were safe out of prison, I just didn't know what to do. I was free to go anywhere I chose, but I was sure everyone thought I was dead, and in a way, it was a relief. I just wanted to be as far away as possible from everyone I knew, because I was so sure you'd all hate me. I hated myself, anyway. So, I came out here, maybe two moths ago. At first, I thought I would only stay a week or two, work up my courage to face 12 again, but then… " He shrugs one-shouldered. "I couldn't." He looks down on me with the desperation of helplessness evident in his eyes, and it's still so far from the Gale I remember. I guess we're both equal victims of the war.

I hug him closely, burying his head in my chest to take away the glittering tears obscuring his grey irises.

"We're both alive, Gale. That's all that matters. And I love you, whether you love yourself or not." Repeating those words I only first said this morning, it's easier to form them the second time. I'll say them a thousand times over, if that's helpful in any way. He looks stricken, staring into my face as if it is salvation, which makes my heart skip a frightened beat. Then his brows furrow again, as he traces the faint line of a burn scar that I know is visible at my temple. The darkness in his gaze tells me what's still bothering him.

I capture his hand, pressing it to my lips once.

"Do you think I'm repulsive, because of them?" I ask him, even though I know my word will hurt him. I need to set this straight.

His eyes widen in indignation.

"No, of course not, I just-"

"Then they don't matter," I cut him off, daring him with my eyes to contradict me. We stare at each other for a long moment, eyes battling for the last, silent, word. Finally, his hard edges melt away, and he kisses my forehead in surrender. It seems I have found my strength again, in the nick of time.

"I've had dreams about you finding me here," he whispers, his breath tickling my ear.

I press my lips against his, softly. _Funny enough_, I think. If this were another fairy tale, then I'd be the noble prince, showing up to wake the princess with a kiss and saving her from damnation with everlasting love. The though of Princess Gale brightens my mood considerably.

"Hey," I mumble, pulling back enough to smile a little at him. "I think I prefer your smug, ill-tempered jerky self," I smirk.

"Glad to know you think so highly of me, Catnip." His chuckle doesn't quite reach all the way.

"High standards aren't exactly on top of my list," I ensure him, aware that my eyes are shining and my grin stretching by the second.

"Good," he mumbles in response, flashing a glimpse of white teeth as his lips curl upwards in return.

I can't resist really kissing him then, pouring all of my heartbreak over him into it with fervour. He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, which stirs up flames inside me again. I'm rather breathless when I tear my lips away from his.

"Wanna go for a swim?" I pant, a sly plan forming in my mind. "I'll race you!"

As soon as the challenge is out of my mouth, I'm off his lap, sprinting towards the shore of the lake before he has a chance to catch up on my words.


	7. The Little Mermaid gone bad

**A/n: **Update time, finally! I'm itching to get the rest of this story out. This chapter and the next was supposed to be just one according to plan, but then I got a bit carried away and suddenly it was enough for two. I don't know where my mind went, but suddenly another... let's call it _adult-themed_ bit came along. Disaster, right? I'm also sorry about the title, but it was too funny not to, no matter if it sounds like a bad X-rated Disney rip-off.

All in all, the unexpected part two of this will be up tomorrow. I love all of those who leave me reviews!

* * *

I blame his winning in the end on the fact that he's only wearing a single pair of shorts, which come off mid-stride, while my leggings are a nuisance to peel off. By the time I reach the lakeshore, I am still hopping from foot to foot, trying to pry them over my ankles. And just when my shirt is finally free over my head, I hear Gale's jubilant shout and the loud splash as he runs into the water. Leaving my underpants on, I dive in right after him, off a stone where I know the lake is deep beyond. A shock goes through my body at the first contact with water. I dive as deep as I can go, just for the rush of it, and turn only when I reach the bottom. Still underwater, I take a few powerful strokes before I come up for air, my soaked hair slicked along my head.

"Being the furthest out doesn't make up for being the last one in, Catnip," I hear Gale's leering voice call to me.

Turning around, I see he's standing near the shore still, water only to his waist. Well, he always was the lesser swimmer. I call as much back to him, challenging again, and turn to swim further out. Immediately, the calm water is disturbed by the splashing of his body hitting the water as he launches himself after me, and I hear the splattering of his quick strokes as he struggles to catch up. Not a chance.

Swimming at full speed, the water is no longer cold, but more like tepid. I guess the sun has been warming it up over the last few weeks, since it is normally still icy cold around midsummer. The lake is full of seaweeds around the shallow parts, but out here, it's wonderfully clear, the water a murky greenish blue colour and so fresh it's drinkable. I stop to look behind me, noticing that when I put my foot down, the temperature drops immediately to freezing. I am distracted as I remember my favourite childhood game, to slowly lower my feet and see how far down they can go while still visible. It's not very far, just like in my memory. Then, like an attack from a mythological giant leviathan, Gale is suddenly on me, pulling me down by my foot. He must have sneaked up and dived when I wasn't paying attention. I yelp, the air rushing out turning into bubbles as my head goes under the surface. In the strange underwater world, I get a brief glimpse of his grinning face, his hair like a black halo around him that moves with the rippling water. Like a merman come to lure me in. Then I resurface again, spluttering like mad. I lunge at him for revenge, gripping my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist like a vice. The only problem is that when he goes under, so do I.

We both come up for air spitting out water, laughing at the childish behaviour that has so abruptly replaced this morning's solemn talk. Then I paddle closer and press my lips firmly against his. When the tops of my breasts graze against his chest, it suddenly doesn't seem so childish after all. He opens his eyes, and a jolt runs down my spine when I see their intensity, the blackness of his diluted pupils. I shallow thickly and wish fervently that the water didn't make it so hard for our bodies to remain in contact.

"Race you back?" asks Gale, with a wicked glint in his eyes. I have never been in more of a hurry while swimming in my life.

As soon as my feet can find hold enough to stand, his arms are around me, pulling me flush against his chest. His lips collide with mine in a greedy, breathless kiss and I jump up in the water to put my legs around him again, to better feel his wet skin against mine. With this new levity, I can tell exactly how much he wants what I also want, which in turn makes me want it _now._ I moan into his mouth when his hands come up to support my bottom, pressing us together. His fingers wander without hesitation, testing me in ways that elicit a deep moan of his own.

Then, in a flash, his grip on me tightens, and he walks out of the water with me still clinging to him. I open my eyes and take a moment to study him beneath me, glistering wet and just so _hot_. He was always muscular, but in a lean and boyish way. He still look more the hunter than a soldier, but the last couple of years have hardened his body, added to his build and made more prominent the sharp lines of his face. I would kiss every single line tracing the muscles in his belly, on his arms, down high thighs, give him all the pleasure in the world right now, but something in his eyes tells me he has quite another kind of plan for us. I don't mind, am happy to surrender all control to him, since my body is his anyway.

Right beside the waterfront, there's a clustering of rocks, the very same ones I had used to dive in minutes earlier. They must be old, and levelled by the water for ages, because their surfaces are smooth, warmed by the sun. I flinch in surprise when my back collides almost vertically with the stone and Gale releases me to let his hands roam over my body instead. He looks up quickly, checking on me.

"I'm fine," I reassure him in a weird squeaky voice, panting from anticipation. More than fine, really, when he kisses down my neck and over my collarbone and suddenly his tongue flicks over my nipple. In a matter of seconds, he has me squirming against the warm surface of the stone, breathing hard. When I think I can't take anymore of his lips, hands, teeth, his tongue on me, I plead his name in a shaky voice. He comes back up to kiss me, and I notice the sun tinting his wet hair a shade of brown, wondering idly if my hair looks the same. When he pulls back, I can see a satisfied grin on his face as he studies me in my flushed, undone state.

"Need something?" he whispers, with that damned smirk on his lips. I guess I can only blame myself for wishing for my old Gale back. In a huge effort to control my hazy mind, I breathe out:

"Do your worst," with my one eyebrow quirked; another dare just because I can't resist.

His eyes become that dark, wicked, almost black shade of grey again, and then he shoves me, not very gently, a little bit further up with a strong grip around the back of my waist. He tilts my hips up, leans in to kiss me hard on my lips, and then drives his hips forward, connecting us fully. I would have screamed out loud if it weren't for his lips blocking me.

This time it isn't soft and gentle, but for that, all the more incredible. He sinks into me again and again, the impact enough that I have to brace myself back on my elbows against the hard stone. I just about have time to register the mesmerizing look of ecstasy on his face, and then he makes a low throaty noise and pulls out of me. Before I can protest, he has flipped me over, steadies me against the warm surface with his arms on mine, and then he's inside me again, from a completely new angle. I cry out, and he breathes my name with his lips just by my ear. I'm completely lost, and before long I feel pressure build up deep within me. Gale has one hand around my front, cupping my breast, the other stabilising my hip, and once again his lips are at my ear, every breath he lets out tickling and sending shivers down all the way to my toes. I'm overwhelmed, trying to draw a deep breath to steady myself and when I succeed, it drives me over the edge. In wave after wave, pleasure sweeps me away, making me scream out wordlessly. His responding growl in my ear as he follows is enough to stretch out the moment further, and I can feel my whole body shaking.

Time stills into an endless content bubble. He slumps against me for a moment, holding me while I come down from my high, kisses my neck over and over. Then he gently turns me around in his arms and as he strokes a few strands of hair out of my face, I can see a question in the slight wrinkle on his forehead. In answer, my face cracks in a drunk but pointedly pleased grin, which tells him exactly what I thought of that treatment. He matches my broad smile, relieved, and lovingly holds my face as he kisses me.

"I love you," he mumbles against my lips. "But I believe I won."

"'s fine. Any time, really," I slur back, my winning instinct for once buried deep down. We lie down in the grass to dry in the sunlight and to still both our rather shaky knees. I feel absolutely free, a soaring high feeling of liberation, where I lie with my head on his arm, staring into his grey eyes, where happiness is swirling like light mist. How did we get so lucky as to find each other, and find our way back into each other's hearts despite our tricky past? And how can the concept of love, which used to be so alien to me, suddenly be the most essential thing in the world? Did he always know that we would be this good together? Or perhaps he knew we never could be, while survival was both our first priority. I can only thank whatever lucky star there might be, that this day has finally arrived where we can make each other happy without a bad conscience.

"I never want to spend another day without you," I blurt out, suddenly worried he'll slide out of my grasp again if I'm not careful.

He just smiles and tucks me in under his arm, kisses the sunwarm hair on top of my head.

"No problem," I hear him mumble back, but I can barely make out the words because his heart is beating so strongly that it's blocking out all other sounds.

We spend the rest of the morning fishing, sitting patiently by the lakeside in the shade with poles in our hands. Gale has designed a strange variant where he consistently throws the baited hook out with a flick of his pole, and then steadily draws the wire back in, onto a spool. I make do with a regular old fishing rod, which is probably good since apparently it's my turn to be questioned now.

He asks me, tentatively but with an evident desire to know, about what happened after he disappeared; about the fall of the Capitol, what I did to figure out that Coin behind the bombs, about people we both used to know. I have a hard time finding words, stopping and stammering a lot over the painful parts. About the month or so I spent in isolation, waiting for a trial that never came, I can tell him nothing. I stare, a deep scowl on my face, on the point where my fishing wire disappears under the surface, and wonder what I could possibly say to him about it. I don't really remember much, just the overwhelming whiteness of the walls, the view of trees through the small window, and hearing my own voice singing songs I thought were long forgotten. What good will it do him to hear the details of my downfall?

When he sees the dark look on my face, he reaches out to squeeze my hand, his eyes telling me he's sorry for bringing it up. But then he asks me what I've done since I came back to District 12, and my silence stretches out, saying more than any words could. I can see the regret in his eyes when he comes over and lifts up my face to his. I know that the same guilt I saw in his eyes earlier is now brimming in mine, combining with shame over my near-insanity to form a fearful confusion.

"Nevermind," he whispers. "Forget about it for now, alright?" Perhaps he understands that my lack of words is not an evasion, but simply the whole truth of the nothingness that my life has become. I nod, and just when he kisses me, my rod suddenly jerks violently in my too limp hands. I give a startled yelp, but then I'm on the alert again, focused on not losing my catch.

Before long, we have fresh fish grilling over the fireplace, and wild greens picked for a salad. My content sense of peacefulness is back, and I feel relaxed and happy as I lean back against a log in the sunshine, my hair still loose since this morning, and wearing only one of Gale's old shirts, which covers me like a short dress, over my underwear. However, there's a nagging thought in the back of my head, trying to break out as anxiety. After lunch, when I sit leaned against his side, I decide to finally acknowledge it.

"I have to go back," I say out loud with a deep sigh. I don't want to leave already, not now when I've found this safe haven where the world is making sense. In all honesty, I'm afraid of what I'll find going back, of how I'll react to my old self-induced prison.

Gale, who has been enjoying the sun on his bare chest to my right, turns his head to look at me.

"Prim is coming to visit tomorrow," I answer his unspoken question. At the mention of her name, I see a flash of fear and shame in his eyes, but he fights it back. For my sake, most likely, since I doubt that is already a finished matter.

He nods, seemingly calm, but a small crease appears on his brow. After a moment he speaks up.

"I'll go with you," he says in a steady voice, like it's obvious. Whatever it is for him, it's incredibly reassuring for me. Some of the worry seeps out of my at once, just knowing that at least I'll have his steady presence to lean on.

"Did you think I'd leave you to it?" He says, only half joking, and I can hear the slight tremor in his deep voice, the undertone that tells me he's not nearly as confident about returning to our home as he lets on.

"It just seems unfair to drag you away from this place," I say, my tone dreamy and far away as I let my eyes wander over the beautiful setting. The craggy mountains in the background, the willows that hang low over the surface on the far side of the lake. The smoke still rising in thin tendrils from the little cabin, which seems more like a home than any other place to me right now. I want to stay here, swim in the lake each morning while I watch the sun rising, roam the forest all day and fall asleep with my arms securely around Gale every night. Far, far away from any troubled thought that might try to sneak its way into my head.

But duty is a governing value in my life, and never could I let my little sister down, so before the sun has a chance to begin its descent from the noon sky, we are on the move. Restoring Gale's home for the past month into order takes a surprisingly short time. I get dressed, catching his rueful eye as he watched me tie back my hair in its usual braid and cover myself up in pants and boots. Gale puts out the fires, and packs up whatever durable goods he has in neat piles around the cabin. Finally, he seals the door securely shut, and nothing remains but to put on our packs and leave.

"We'll come back, right?" I wonder out loud, to reassure myself as much as him that this is not the end of our magic place.

Gale nods. "Of course," and hold out a hand for me to take after swinging his game back across his shoulders. I do the same, lace my fingers through his, and then we set off.


	8. Back from the dead

**A/n:** Yeah, this is another nice and cute chapter, where I tried to put in a little magic even though I found it very hard to write. I feel i've lost some of the charm in this part of the story, like my mind wants to move on to new visions...

Please let me know what you think, or even just that you've read it, if you have a minute to spare :)

* * *

We walk in comfortable silence, which is probably all I could handle since I have a hard enough time keeping up with the pace he sets. We're certainly walking slower than he normally would when he's in the woods alone, but still much faster than I have managed to do for a long time. Being well fed for several days, and with a new and improved spirit, the hike through the forest is a lot easier than the day before, but demanding for my weak body all the same. I'm too stubborn to say anything, but I think Gale notices, since his grip on my hand turns more helpful by the mile. Once we're over the worst of the hills, I'm keeping up better. That's when I notice something is obviously bothering him. His forehead is deep in wrinkles, his eyes troubled and seemingly far away. I request a pause to take a drink of water and rest my tired legs for a bit, but he seems restless, pacing in front of me rather than sitting down.

"Hey," I call to get his attention, and stand up to make him face me. "What's wrong?"

He draws an agitated hand through his hair, using his other one to mess with the end of my braid. Whether it's to distract me or to think better, I don't know. He doesn't meet my eyes, but stares off into the woods.

"I'm thinking… I don't even know if…" he sighs, draws his hand across his face in a shamed gesture. What's wrong this time?

Then he forces out, in a voice so small that suddenly he's a scared little boy standing tall over me: "My family." He takes a deep breath and continues in a stronger voice. "I don't even know where they are, if they are…"

The last word is impossible to say, even for someone as brave as Gale, and I understand his apprehension without hearing it.

Oh. Why hadn't I thought of that earlier? Of course he'd be freaking out over his family. With a pang of regret, I realise I don't even know where they were, how they have handled the shock of his supposed death. _Oh_. They still believe him to be dead. I find myself staring at him, at a loss of words and suddenly just as stricken as he seems to be. I can't even bring myself to console him, because I know that no words can really make up for keeping his beloved family in the dark for this long. And nothing can explain why I haven't felt the need to make sure they're all safe. We stare at each other for a long, guilt-ridden moment.

"Do you know anything?" he finally asks me, with a pleading look.

I take another long moment to really think, ransack my memory for any hazy picture that would ease his anxiety.

"I think…" Yes, there's something there, a dim frame at the very back, probably from not very long after I first got back to 12. "I _think _your mother came to visit me. Months ago. But I don't think she liked what she found… And I can't be sure I didn't just dream it up." I meet his eyes when I say the last part, willing him to understand why I can't give him a better answer.

He just nods slowly, ignoring my hints at the uncertainty at the source for now.

"We'll just have to see for ourselves, I guess." Taking my hand and gripping it firmly, he sets off again, with long strides that I do my best to match. The closer we get to the fence, the more I feel him tense up and the more I can tell he wants nothing more than to be there already. We pass out old meeting spot without further ado, and then in a matter of minutes, we're there. Gale breathes in a long gulp of air, and reaches out to rattle the fence, as if to question its existence.

"Still bloody in the way," I hear him mutter. He knows just as well as I do that the fence is more about keeping unwanted things out than locking people in at this stage, but I can see how it would signify oppression for him, still.

In no time, despite our dawdling pace walking across the meadow, we are recognised by the first best person in our path. Fortunately, it's Gale's old crewmember from the mines, Thom. He seems only a little worse for wear, his old unfazed self even after everything. After a long moment of wild disbelief at seeing the both of us, and an even longer exchange of word for explanation, the older man finally just gives up and laughs heartily at the strange encounter. When Gale asks him in a quiet voice about his mother, he gets an even greater smile and a pointed direction in the way of the old Seam area.

"The house with the walls half painted yellow," Thom chuckles, as if this detail is the funniest thing is the world. Well, yellow is an awful bright colour for a house in District 12 I guess. At least that means they're here.

When we take a right turn and find ourselves on a newly paved street, lined with smallish houses in varying states of completion, I understand what he meant. Immediately, the house at the end of the row on the right hand side, the one closest to a small lawn covered in flowers, stands out. The light pastel shade of yellow that covers only the side of the house facing the small park brightens up the area around it, like a reminder of sunshine among the all-pervading coal dust. The house is narrow but has two low stories, and a half-finished wooden fence lining the road. In the small front yard, someone has recently planted a tiny tree, apple I think. Given time, it will grow to shade half the house. Overall, it's pretty; a house made for a happy childhood.

We walk slowly hand in hand down the street, and come to a halt in front of the unhinged little front gate. Though the window, I can see only a flowery curtain fluttering in the breeze. I turn to Gale, who by now seems to have gone into a full-scale introverted panic attack, eyes wide but body locked down in tension. I take his face between my hands, forcing him to look down at me. By kissing him for a long moment, I succeed in getting his wild eyes to flutter close, and when he opens them again, they are focused in the now.

"Do you want me to go in first?" I ask him gently.

He nods, looking a little ashamed of himself, but mostly relieved. I nod back, and tell him to take another deep breath, while doing the same myself.

"Alright," I mutter under my breath, and let go of his hand. Time to be brave all on my own.

When I step up on the porch outside the front door, I can faintly hear voices from within, but I can't make out any specifics. Without further hesitation, I knock softly on the wooden door. On it I can see smears of three different shades of apple red at a small child's reach. I hear a bit of shouting, coming from what seems like different parts of the second floor. When no one answers for a few seconds, I try the handle, and the door swings open easily at my hand. The voices grow louder, and the smells of stew and baking bread hits me along with an overwhelming scent of hominess and soft, glowing light. Then I call out a hesitant _hello_, and at once, the floating voices are cut off while the door opens enough for four curious faces to pop into view.

An intense mix of surprise, elation and shyness comes over me, as I carefully study everyone in the room without a word. My eyes wander from the kitchen, over the crayon-littered floor of the open living room, up the stairway, stopping at each figure. I must look as shocked as they do, only more out of place.

"Katniss?" I hear my name spoken as a question from two voices simultaneously, both female but one deep and worried, the other high-pitched and girlishly exultant. My eyes flit back and forth between Gale's frowning mother and his grinning little sister; uncertain of whom I should focus on. The hard stares of the two present Hawthorne brothers burn into my face.

"Hi," I squirm. Then I pull myself together. These are only Gale's family, for goodness sake. Basically like my own family, I tell myself, even if they're only moderately happy to see me. Maybe they're only shocked to see me out and about.

"I brought someone to see you," I continue, actually smiling as I find my courage.

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I feel his presence behind me, and see the door swing up a little further to admit his larger frame. When Gale steps into the hallway to stand beside me, my eyes are locked on each of his family member's faces in turn. In this moment, I'm not important, but just getting to see their reaction is priceless.

All is silent and still, while the inner turmoil in them is clearly visible, and tension zings in the otherwise warm atmosphere like an electric current. No one seems to know what to do, as they just stare, and Gale stares right back. I can see his hands tremble, and a thousand words hang just out of reach on his lips.

Sometimes the courage of children reaches far beyond that of adults. White as a sheet, with her large enigmatic grey eyes swimming in tears, Posy looks downright frightened, but still determined.

"Are you a ghost?" she pipes up, through shivering lips. "Are you here to say good-bye for real?" I flinch a little at hearing almost my own words from the day before, coming from a five year-old.

Her two youngest brothers snap their heads in her direction, as if to correct her, but then their eyes change direction and stare at their third sibling again, also waiting for an answer. Gale ambles half a step closer, his mouth opening and closing.

"No," he finally croaks out, and I hear the regret in his voice. "More like _hello again._"

The spell is broken at last with his voice, and I see them all blinking, colour returning to their faces. In a flurry, their mother, who has so far stood frozen on the kitchen threshold, drops the bowl in her hands. It falls to the floor with a loud clang, and with surprising speed she rushes up to her son. She wastes no time in staring anymore, like I vaguely remember doing myself yesterday, but just locks him in a suffocating embrace. Gale has to stoop to relent to it, but does so at once. A strangled noise escapes one of them; I'm not sure who.

As soon as their mother has made up her mind to believe him more than a hollow illusion, Gale's siblings are quick to follow her example. Vick and Posy throw themselves around his waist and legs, wherever they can get a hold of him, while Rory, who looks like he's grown years in just months, is still more wide-eyed than teary. He slowly descends the stairs, comes to stand right behind his mother, looking well over her shoulders, and tentatively reaches out a hand to his brother's arm.

Mumbled words and Posy's loud sniffles are all that escape the tight group, and I realise this is probably my cue to leave. It doesn't seem right to impose more than I already have, even if I'm hesitant to leave Gale's side. From my place by the door, I watch them wistfully for another moment, with something that is uncomfortably close to envy. I am happy for them, I really am, but I suddenly wish I were a part of something similar. The warmth of a whole beloved family is only a treasured memory in the back of my mind.

Suddenly, I'm aware of watchful eyes on me, and look up to find Hazelle intently studying me. At first I don't know what to make of the dramatic mix of emotions I see in her gaze, but then I'm suddenly sure she has been holding something against me for a long time. However, I see all that slowly melting away as our eyes stay locked, until I blink for a fraction of a second. Then there's only a deep gratitude remaining. In return, a small smile pulls at my lips, and I turn to leave, meaning to steal out without interrupting the moment.

Before I get anywhere, it's like Gale senses my intent, and his hand shoots out to grab me by the wrist. I look back to see him staring at me with bewildered eyes that are raw around the edges. He has his little sister clutched in one arm now, and they make a striking picture.

"Where are you going?" he asks, almost like he's panicking over me leaving. I understand the feeling, but it warms my silly heart to hear he reacts the same way.

"Just up to the house," I assure him in a low voice, trying to ignore all the other pairs of eyes studying our interaction. "I have some things to do. I'll see you later, ok?"

He nods, not letting go of my eyes yet. With a pull on my arm, he brings me closer, and places a soft kiss right on my lips. I have the good sense to blush, since we're in front of his family and all.

"See you soon," he whispers to me, stressing the last word. I squeeze his hand once before dropping it, and quickly slip out the door, looking back just once to see Rory leering and Gale smiling abashedly at something Posy whispers in his ear.

Walking away doesn't feel quite as hard when I know they will sort it all out. Their knight in shiny armor has returned, and peace will certainly be restored to the striving inhabitants of the yellow little house at our road's end. Now, if only my own problems were that easily solved...


	9. Witching hour

**A/n:** So, now we're gonna take a step back, and a few steps forward. This story is coming to an end, can you believe it? There are other ideas crowding in my head... About two more chapters go go after this I think, or even just one?

Either way, I want to say a huge **thanks** to those wonderful readers who reviewed last time, you were awesome all of you! :) As a reward, here's an extra special long chapter for you, at least by my standards. Confused Katniss makes a reappearance, since it's a lot of fun writing, and because it's an excuse to get lost in fairy tale-land.

If you're a good little girl (are there even any guys reading this story I wonder?), you'll skip the last section under the horisontal line. That's just... something i couldn't resist writing, but got a little red in the face when I reread just now.

So, what do you think?

* * *

Stepping over the threshold to my grand prize house, I'm hit with stale air that knocks the breath out of my lungs. Combined with exhaustion from the long walk, I'm instantly lightheaded and I can't think straight from the wooziness, gasping as I make my way further inside. This place holds nothing but death, and it's draining all my energy. No wonder, really. Death has a way of seeping into everything around me. I recall the imaginary feeling of grave dust invading my mouth, filling me up from inside until I'm nothing but remains of people long gone, of times long in the past. It's an image way too real for my liking.

_Death_. I can almost hear the walls whispering it. Without Gale's steadying presence beside me, I suddenly feel very lost. Grasping for my newfound resolution, I stumble past the rocking chair that's been my nest lately, avoiding going too close for fear it will swallow me up again. An unwelcome image pops into my head of an old, crooked woman cowering in the shadows of a long-since wrecked house, cackling to herself with wicked intention. A witch, I think they used to call it in the stories. I check my nails in panic, imagining them to be claws spiralling out of control on skin turning a sickening shade of green in the firelight. I can almost hear the malicious, jarring laughter in my ears, imagine it coming out of my own mouth. And is it the clouds rolling over the sky that makes the sunlight flicker, or do I see a roaring fire reflected on the walls? I close my eyes, trying to shake the false pictures away before they can control my mind.

Not now. Not again.

I burst open the door to an odd closet, and nearly jump out of my skin as an old broomstick falls out to knock me in the head. Then I have to crouch down as my heart relearns how to beat, as my mind suspiciously rules out the witch theory again. _Right_; cleaning supply closet. Remembering my intention, I sort out what I think I might need. It takes quite a while. After all, I have never had to do much house chores before.

The rest of the afternoon I spend in a focused frenzy, physical exertion keeping my spiralling mind in check. I feel a strange kind of satisfaction as I see room after room restored to its former glory, every trace of the destruction I've brought here being swept, polished and dusted away. I want it all gone with a vengeance; as if I can scrub away every painful memory along with the physical form it has taken in my life.

At some point, I wipe off the polish from the last dirty kitchen window, and find Peeta staring at me from right outside it. Unhooking the panels, I throw the window wide, wiping the last of the foam.

"What are you doing?" he asks me, his eyebrows all scrunched up in astonishment as he takes in the sparkling kitchen.

"What does it look like?" A stupid answer to a stupid question. Turns out I'm still a form of my old spiteful self.

"I take it the woods were nice, then?"

Questions all around. He still looks at me like I'm crazy, and rightfully so perhaps, but he also looks a little pleased with himself. I just grunt affirmatively, not really feeling like explaining the whole thing to him right now. I'm busy. Peeta calmly comes inside, and goes to work on the upper floor without another word. Maybe cleaning has calming effects on him too.

Another while passes before the job is finally done and every lurking bit of dust has been swept away. Unbending my aching back to wipe my brow, I nod my thanks to Peeta, who comes into my view again after stuffing the cleaning supplies back in the kitchen closet. He stops to look at me, as if something about my appearance puzzles him.

"Dinner's at seven," I intercede, before he has time to bring something up. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"Oh, and dessert's on you" I add. "I shot a rabbit, and I'll shoot Haymitch too, if he doesn't show up."

"You're cooking?" he asks in incredulity, trying to suppress a smile.

"Shut it and go bake," I snap, turning my back to him and head down the hall to the study.

I hate this room more than anything, but I have to use the only phone available in the house. Typing in a number still foreign to me, plastered on the handle so I can't lose it, I wait anxiously while a few, dragging signals go through. Alright, here's the moment of truth.

"Hello?"

My heart heals a bit at once, just hearing her voice. Prim. Alive and talking.

"Hey," I say, knowing I don't need to introduce myself any further.

"Katniss!" The girly innocence still comes through in her voice when she's happy, but it's a miracle she would be happy to hear my voice even now, after all these lost months.

"Hey Prims," I say quietly, my soft voice intended for her ears only. Perhaps no longer though, my voice was pretty soft this morning after… I quickly pull my brain back on track. "How are you doing?" I ask instead.

She sighs a little, says "Fine," in a light voice. I hate that she has been forced to grow up so fast lately, to the point where she tells me only fractions of the truth. I know she likes it well enough in 4, where she is helping my mother and others set up a new hospital, and also attends a new school, I think. I do my best to focus when she tells me things, but mostly I can't quite catch her words before they float away from me. The sad truth is, that with the weight of being the only member of our family left really _alive_, she's not the carefree little angel she used to be.

Now she's chattering away in the same too light tone of voice that she always uses with me as of lately, telling me about her day. I react only when a familiar name flitters through my anxious attempt to formulate a request.

"Buttercup?" I ask, confused.

"Yes!" gushes Prim, less guarded in her sudden enthusiasm. "He came back! Last night, he just showed up on our doorstep, thorns and blisters all over the poor thing, but still. He found me! He's…"

She pauses, mid-excitement, as my spontaneous laughter rings across the line all the way to her.

"Katniss? How are _you_?" I thought she had stopped asking me that a long time ago. She sounds almost worried, she's so surprised. The last time she heard me laugh must have been… Well, _before_.

"I'm… Well, listen Prim. You're still coming here tomorrow, right? Do me a favour?"

It takes her a full minute to respond. This is certainly the first she's heard from her actual sister in a long time, and when she speaks up again, there's a cautious note of hope in her voice.

"Of course."

"Will… Will you ask mother to come, too?" I say carefully, not sure of myself. Prim has been to see me every month since I returned to District 12, but always on her own. It's not that I would blame mother if she can't stand seeing me like this, a reflection of her own breakdown from years ago. In turn, I resent to think I'm more like her than I could have ever guessed before, and that makes us pretty even. But after everything that's happened over the last 24 hours, I feel again the old guilty conscience, the instinct to take care of her, make sure she knows I'm in control and tell her it's all going to be okay.

Prim hesitates a moment. "She's really busy… She can't just take the weekend off just like that, you know."

_Grow up and live in the real world, sister, _is the clear message.

"Just please ask her?" I plead, and I must still sound pretty lost and helpless, because Prim caves.

"I will," she promises. I can tell that she's dying to ask me what's going on, why I suddenly sound like I'm awake and not trapped far, far away in some dark, twisted fairyland. I quickly finish the call, saying I'll see her tomorrow and we'll talk more then. My heart feels a lot lighter than usual when I hang up.

Cooking, just like cleaning, is not my strong suit. Fighting off exhaustion from the long day, I fidget with the stove, its many buttons alien to me. In the end, I throw the meat and some wild potatoes together in a big pot along with whatever greens I happen to find, and stick it all in the oven, before pushing my way out of the kitchen again. I have one more battle to fight before this day is over.

An hour later, dinner is right on time, against all odds. We sit in silence, scraping noises of cutlery on plates and chewing the only sounds around my oversized kitchen table. Once again, I feel the satisfaction of a task completed. The food is actually not too bad, and both of my fellow victors are doing a pretty good job of eating up without complaint. It took threats and cold water, but I even managed to rouse Haymitch from the stupor he's been in ever since we came back. Quite a feat, considering I thought he'd be half dead by now. Maybe he was just too shocked to see me in his house to resist. From the way he cringed away at the sight of me, you would think he had seen a ghoul. The depressing truth is that we're probably not too unlike after all, me and him.

Oh well, all good things are three, or how was it again? Haymitch keeps throwing me suspicious glances from where he's slumped in his seat to my right, a full drinking glass of liquor clutched tight. Peeta's no better really, carefully avoiding my eyes but staring when he thinks I won't notice. He serves us apple pie and cream for dessert, which we all do our best to appreciate. None of us are big on appetite these days. While three pairs of unseeing eyes stare down, shuffling around apples and crumbly topping with our forks, he finally clears his throat.

"So," he starts, "what happened?"

I guess I should be happy it's him asking the question and not Haymitch, who would have framed it in a much nastier way, no doubt.

I stuff a forkful of pie in my mouth, to avoid talking for a little longer.

"I… I met someone," I say slowly, looking up quickly to gauge their faces.

"The good fairy grandmother herself, was it?" sniggers my former mentor, grinning evilly through his drunken haze. I frown, but I learned long ago not to let him get to me, so I just ignore that. Peeta has his eyebrows lifted questioningly. I can't look at either of them if I want to get this out.

Fidgeting with my half-eaten apples again, I tell myself I don't keep secrets from these two.

"I met Gale," I mumble, not daring to look up at first.

"You did what?" Peeta sounds bewildered.

"I met Gale," I repeat, more forcefully this time, raising my voice to its normal tone as I marvel at the statement yet again. I almost smile, but then I catch the other two exchanging a less pleased look. They are suddenly watching me with anxious, careful eyes, while the atmosphere around the table tenses up.

"Er, Katniss…" Peeta doesn't seem to know at all in which end to start. Haymitch, on the other hand, is a more straightforward sort of man.

"Started to see ghosts now, have we?" he says, leering in a way that makes my blood boil. "And to think Peeta used to be the one who needed to ask if things are real or not!" he guffaws out, actually laughing out loud. "You're quite the pair, aren't you?"

I wonder briefly if the man has seen his own reflection in years. But the worst thing is he's right, as usual.

"Katniss," Peeta says again, looking at me more worried than anything. "Gale is dead. You know that, right?"

"No, I swear, I met him. He's alive!" I retort, my voice raised and anguished.

How dare they mock me? Why won't they believe me? True, lately I haven't been the most reliable of people, but I'm lucid now. Right? I look back and forth between Peeta's frown and Haymitch's incredulous sniggering, and that's when panic starts to creep up on me. I feel I really am losing my grip on reality again, and what's to say I didn't lose it for real long ago? Perhaps they're right, and the last twenty-four hours have only happened in my head, a figment of my imagination. My eyes start to zip around, searching frenetically for a hold on sanity, but my mind is stuck in a loop.

"But we…" I say weakly, trying to piece it together. I couldn't have imagined _that_, could I? The intense pleasure, the intimate moment after, when I could hear only his heart beating, it's all too real. But still…

Peeta looks at me with awkward pity now, and Haymitch is still leering, taking another huge gulp from his bottle and then breaking out in awful laughter all over again. I hate them both. Quite the wonderful little family, aren't we? I feel the familiar hopelessness and resignation anew, because this is what I'm stuck with. We're the three titans who went to hell and back, only to be so badly burnt that we crumbled into trolls, hiding in the murky depths of each our own cave.

Finally, the drunken man to my right laughs himself into a stupor, falls unceremoniously from his chair and passes out in a heap on the floor. Sighting, Peeta and I push ourselves up to standing, preparing for the task of dragging our mentor back to his own dark cavern. All the air has gone out of me, and I would like nothing better than to curl up in my old rocking chair again and forget about the world, but Haymitch helped me a thousand times before, and now I'm very much in his debt. Deep down, I also care too much for him to let him drown in his own vomit.

We grab one of his arms each, haul him up between us, and begin the seemingly endless struggle across the yard to the left side of my house. I can see Peeta glancing over at me every now and then nervously, but I ignore him, still equally fuming and frustrated. It's not until we have disposed of the unconscious Haymitch on a couch in his parlour, covered him with a blanket and put a glass of water on the table beside him, and then walked outside, that Peeta speaks up.

"Sorry about that," he begins, but I can't fathom why. I can tell he still doesn't believe me any more than he did ten minutes ago. "Look, I'm clearly the last person to judge what's real or not, and I don't know what's going in your mind. But I hope for your sake that it turns out alright, okay?" I note that he doesn't say that he hopes I was right, because for him, that's a far stretch of imagination. "I'm glad something made you feel better, whatever it was."

I nod absently, locked in an internal battle with my own brain and not really listening anymore. He gently pats my arm once in a parting gesture, and turns to walk over to his own house. In a daze, I do the same, so tired I can barely manage the simple motion. I walk unseeing past the dishes that are still sitting on the kitchen table, couldn't care less about the mess. My heart is aching with emptiness. Was it all really a cruel trick of my mind? In that case, I want it back, want to lose myself in fairyland again, where everything is possible. I fall exhausted onto the couch in the living room and curl up in a ball under the blanket. Reason tells me I could just walk down to his family's house in town, where I left him, to confirm he's there, or shatter the illusion. I can't muster the courage though, so instead I fall into fitful sleep, with panic lurking just behind a thin veil again.

* * *

I don't know how much time passes, but eventually I'm aware of the front door opening and closing, of steps ghosting over the carpet. My nostrils flare at the feint scent of forest and smoke, and then I feel the weight shift on the couch and a warm body folding itself around mine. My eyes go wide, and I turn my head sharply to stare. I blink over and over, trying to judge if this is still me dreaming or not.

"Gale?" I croak out, reaching out to feel his cheek beneath my hand. He is smiling warmly down at me, but it fades a little when he sees my wild eyes.

"Shh Katniss," he says steadily, recognising my alarm from the day before. "I'm here, still. No panic."

I fling myself around his neck, my body flush against his.

"The others said I was imagining stuff again," I mumble against his shirt. "I was worried they were right."

Gale strokes my hair until I can breath evenly again, and then his hands caress the length of my body, perhaps relieved to be so close to me again, too. I laugh a little at myself, at how easily scared I am these days, and feel his answering smile against my forehead.

"I love you," I say, the words slightly muffled as I place kisses along his neck, until I can reach his lips and capture them with mine. It seems very important to let him hear those words over and over again, to make up for all the times I didn't say them.

The kiss is heavy, with the weight of emotion soon sending pulsing desire down my every nerve for the third time this day. I can never get enough. His hands are eager, all over my body already, setting my skin on fire wherever they go. In the middle of the night, the need feels stronger than ever and there's no time to be gentle. I want to taste every inch of his skin, want him closer than physically possible and want him in me, _now_, all at the same time.

I clutch at his clothing, in a hurry to get them off and sighting in pleasure as they disappear and his smooth skin is exposed for me to touch. I run my hand over his chest, so hardened and defined, over his arms to feel the strength there, and down the endlessly soft skin at his sides to the tops of his legs, roughly pressing my hands in to revel in every curve and every bone. When that's not enough, I press him down with my body, my legs on either side of his hips to hover over him, letting my mouth trail down the same way. He lifts my shirt over my head, and I look up to see his eyes burn with the same passion. He's so beautiful, I have to climb up to kiss him again, moulding my naked body into his. He's half sitting up, leaning his back on the armrest of the sofa. When his hands come up to cup my breasts, it feels to good that my hips buck against his, the straining hardness there against me sending tingles of pleasure up my spine. He groans against my mouth, pinches my nipples in want. It fuels my desire faster, and I reach down between our bodies, gripping his length in my hand and stroking quickly twice, before he stops my hand with an unintelligible grunt. I pull back from the kiss to look into his eyes, just when he lifts my lower body a little, to guide us together. I still hold his gaze as I slide down all the way in one motion, and see the flare of fire in his eyes.

Both our heads fall back, lost in the sensation as we move together, slow but deep all at once, too much and yet not enough. My back arches, stretching to fit more of him, and he has one hand on my hip, keeping us in pace, while the other slides up and down my body. I moan loudly with each connection of out hips, matching the raw noise coming out of him. Then his hand slides down further, placing his thumb on the most sensitive spot between my legs and slowly circling it. I see stars behind my eyelids. Recognising the feeling, I grip his face in one hand to make him look into my eyes, pressing my own thumb against his upper lips. When we come, it's hard and fast and with our eyes still locked in each other's, making it all the more intense.

I bend in to kiss him again, leaning our bodies together. He holds me tightly there, breathless and wordless, his heart beating through his chest against my own. Like his very own kind of haphazard knight in shiny armour, he has come to save me from where I was trapped in my own dark mind, a fortress more terrifying than any dungeon. Finally, we fall asleep, me curled up with my back against his chest, and I feel more protected and safe than I can ever remember feeling before. A smile is playing on my lips, and I drift off with his breath tickling the little hairs on my neck.


	10. The Prettiest Duckling

**A/n**: Waay to late at night now, but waay to long since the last update! In short, ehm... working is extremely time consuming. Not to mention after work drinks... Either way, here's finally the next chapter, the second last of this story. I think my prolonged writing of this part comes from the fact that there is very little tension left, and very much reconnecting/cutesy stuff to be filled in. Not my strong suit, apparently.

Feel free to let me have it if you don't like something, or let me know if you think something was good! Any inclination you've been reading is much appreciated, really ;)

* * *

Half still asleep, I hear the rustling of the front door opening again, and feel a wave of fresh air wash over my face. For one moment, I'm floating in the weightless state just beyond consciousness. I sense warmth, and my chest rising and falling in pace with another. I fell asleep with a smile and wake up with another, as my mind registers that I wasn't out of my mind this time either, after all. Gale is here, his breath fanning over my forehead and tickling my ear. We're still on the couch where we fell asleep last night, with me curled up tightly against his chest and my head tucked in between his shoulder and chin, his cheek on top. My eyes flutter, trying to fight off the sleepy haze that stops me from grasping what's going on, but slide closed again. Most of all, I'm so comfortable I just want to go back to sleep. Then I hear voices floating through the doorway, from the hall. Light, female voices, so familiar that my ears tune in without effort.

"Mom! It's _clean_."

I hear steps flutter over floorboards, footsteps I would recognise anywhere.

"Katniss?" _Step, step, step._ "She's not in the kitchen, either..."

A mumbled response is harder to make out.

I crack open one eye. The first thing in my line of vision is the soft skin of Gale's neck and collarbone, the pulsation of his blood visible from this close up. I get an impulse to lean in and kiss him there, to feel his heartbeat against the sensitive skin of my lips. There are so many new aspect of his body yet for me to discover… But then a movement registers, and I automatically refocus, to see instead a slight figure coming into my view just beyond.

Her blond hair falls free over her shoulders, seems to shine in the morning sunlight through the windows and her white dress billows innocently around her, making her look altogether otherworldly. An angel, sent to watch over me, when it should be the other way around. I blink hard once, to be able to look at her properly, to meet her sparkling blue eyes and assure myself that this sprightly creature is in fact my little sister, no matter how impossible it is for her goodness to come from the same pool of genes as my severity.

Her face is priceless, much less angelic than downright shocked, as she takes in the scene before her. She locks her eyes on mine for a minute, comically wide, and I can see the gears shifting in her head. Her gaze wanders over to the sleeping form around mine and bless her; her whole face shines up with inner light.

Then, before I can react, she launches herself forward with a high squeal. I just have time to catch sight of Gale's eyes snapping open in alarm, and then Prim's whole body lands on top of the blanket covering us, as she tries to hug us both in an awkward full-body tackle.

"Gale! Katniss! Oh!" Her voice is shrill right in my ear, but sounds as joyful as I had forgotten it could. That part, I don't mind in the least.

At the same time, I don't know whether to laugh or die from embarrassment. It's lucky we had the blanket pulled up high over us, really. She used to relentlessly wake me by jumping on top of me in bed when we were kids, but in this situation, it's not quite the same. It takes her a good long moment to become aware of the situation at hand, before I can see realisation hit her, along with an instant blush.

"Oh!" it slips out of her again, this time more urgent. I notice her eyes flashing down to my visible lack of upper body clothing, then widen even more when she registers Gale's similar predicament. In an instant, she untangles her arms from the two of us.

"Sorry!" my little sister pipes up, quickly twisting her feet back on the floor and scurrying off.

Laughter that I tried to hold back bubbles up my chest, increasing when I see the shock on Gale's face, as he is struggling at once to wake up and to register what just happened. He gives me a one-sided grin in response, looking a little sheepish, just like I know I do.

I hear Prim's urgent splutter from the kitchen, telling my mother the news with excitement that I can hear bouncing around all the way from here.

Oh well, we don't have anything to hide from the world now, I guess. Especially not from the people we love. Unable to control it, I keep giggling in muffled chokes all through the unsmooth process of sitting up and retrieving discarded pieces of clothing

I throw one longing glance at Gale's chest disappearing out of sight in his shirt, and when he catches my stare, he grins again, a little wicked, and kisses my lips rather unchastely.

Emerging from the sitting room, I find my mother calmly standing by the stove, already with a left-behind apron tied over her simple green dress and boiling water for washing up. In a strange moment, I'm not sure any time has passed at all since the early days of my childhood, as my mind spins back in time. I can almost see little toddler Prim crawling around at her feet, hear my own girlish voice twitter in the background about something father thought me last time we were in the forest, smell the scent of a scant dinner being readied for his return from the workday. Memories of when we last were a fully functioning family, resurfacing perhaps when I am finally ready for us to try out the concept again.

Like she can feel my stare burning into her back, my mother slowly turns around, wiping her hands on the front of the apron. We study each other for a long moment, eyes appraising and comparing to the last time we met. I look for familiar signs, search for confirmation of my suspicions, for anything to either reject or affirm the theory of our similar downfall. She looks aged, worn out by decades of worry, with dark circles under her eyes that tell of long hours working to forget. In her eyes is still that distant indifference, the barrier against the world that always made me resentful whenever I saw it before, since I mistakenly took it for a sign of weakness. But other than that, she looks better. Healthier, relaxed and with a hint of sunshine in her blond hair, like Prim does too.

The hard edge goes out of my eyes at once, just like I can see emotions surface ever so slightly in hers, as we both recognise each other in a way we never have before. She looks at me likes she finally understands who I am, mixed with respect and worry and just plain relief. A knowing but gentle smirk creaks up one side of her lips. I know without asking what she's thinking, that after all, we're more similar than either one of us would really like us to be, she and I. I inherited my father's physical appearance and strength of will, but my mother's fragile heart, and for that, she looks almost apologetic.

Perhaps this realisation would have made me resent her even more, if I had reached it only a couple of years earlier. Perhaps that was the real reason I couldn't stand her in the first place, since weakness is something I've strived to conquer all my life. If emotional softness were in my blood all this time because of her, then surely she would be to blame? No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop myself from falling in love, two times over none the less. And what's worse is, I let it consume me; let it eat me up from inside in my fight to eradicate all feeling. Despite my best efforts to think rationally, to keep my head cold and calculating, my emotions have always been the most prominent part of my character.

Now I look at my mother, and I see only strength, and bravery, in the sheer fact that she's here. She's learned to live with herself, with the vivid pain that I know is there every day to contort her reality into darkness, and thus, I can no longer hold the past against her. I resolve to try my best to leave anger behind, let it disappear along with my teenage years, and start again. At the very least, I am sure that I have a lot to learn from this woman, if only I can find the patience to listen.

Judging by the way she's slowly stepping closer to me with hope shining in her eyes, I take it that she at least is willing to give our relationship another chance. Despite my spur-of-the-moment realisations, I can only stand frozen in place and look on helplessly as she comes to stand in front of me. I don't know what to do, and I'm absolutely clueless of what to say, so for once, I'm happy to let her be the adult in our relationship. I guess a mother's instincts are pretty useful in these situations, because she looks anything but lost.

Like a little girl, I look at her for answers, hold on to the gentle smile on her face as if it's a lifeline. She lifts a hand to stroke my loose hair behind one ear in a gesture that says more than stuttered words, while the look in her eyes tells me _I know_.

Then her bright blue eyes shift to look over my shoulder, just as something deep inside me reacts to Gale's presence in the room. Prim, who so far has been standing a little off to the side and silently watched the fumbling reunion before her, gives another high squeal, and jumps into the arms of my allegedly dead best friend before he has time to react. I hear his startled laughter reverberating deep inside my heart. My mother looks on, with something that I can only classify as a smug set of her face. Her knowing eyes flit to my face, back over my shoulder, and then she smiles brighter, which rejuvenates her face by years.

"I knew it," I hear her mutter under her breath.

My eyebrows shoot up, and then furrow as I wonder which part of this she might be referring to: the part where Gale is alive, or the fact that he is here in my house, both of us obviously newly awakened. Mother looks me in the eyes again, and then takes me by surprise as she enfolds me in a warm hug. I'm overwhelmed by the familiar but yet so forgotten smell of her, the comforting feeling of her hand along the length of my hair.

"I had a feeling he couldn't be gone," she whispers in my ear. "He would never just leave you like that."

I pull away a little to be able to see her eyes again, but find them sincere, wise beyond this world. Maybe I'm not the one with witch-like qualities in this family. She is still smiling widely, stepping back to take hold of my hands, squeezing them affectionately with eyes sparkling in relief. _You'll be alright_, they're telling me.

Still staring wordlessly in wonder at this magical woman who has been hiding inside my mother, or perhaps been there all along without my busy mind noticing, I feel the warmth of Gale's body beside mine. A thrill tickles down my spine when his hand brushes along my shoulder blade, and his arm settles securely around my waist. I can't resist leaning my head against his upper arm, unable not to return the affection. He nods towards my mother with a dimpled, closed-lipped smile, and mumbles a quiet _hello_.

Since when does Gale pull off a _shy_ demeanour? I'm wondering with a troubled glance to my side if this is the ghost of Prim's almost-death that is back to haunt him. He should know better than to think that either one of the other women in my family could possibly be holding a grudge, if not even I can.

He gets a warm welcome that surprises me yet again, as mother grips him firmly around the neck to make him bend down, and plants a quick kiss on each of his cheeks. The look on his face is superb, transforms him back into a young boy. She seems to have this effect on both of us today.

"I'm very happy for you both," she says sincerely, looking between Gale and me, effectively making us both blush and squirm.

"Me too!" exclaims Prim, lightening the atmosphere instantly as she wiggles in under my free arm and grins at us so wide that I'm worried her pretty face will split in two.

"Oh, and sorry about… before," she adds in a lower voice, blushing bright red across her fine cheekbones. However, she also throws me a weirdly sly glance out of the corner of her eye, when Gale looks out the window in a sudden burst of modesty. Perhaps my little duck is not so little anymore, at fourteen years of age. I notice with certain discomfort that the transformation into a graceful white swan seems to be in full swing, morphing her body from girl to a young woman. She's taller, leaner in some places and fuller in others. I wonder if it's weird that perhaps I'm feeling a little jealous? Not that I'm surprised, and not that she ever was quite the ugly duckling, but I can see this getting out of hand in no time at all... That twinkle in her large sapphire eyes just now was certainly a little too knowing, a little too grown up. Perhaps I have yet another reason never to let her out of my sight ever again, apart from the obvious one concerning her life. I can be quite menacing when I want to…

I secure my arm around her still-shorter shoulders as mother hands Gale and me each a ready-made sandwich that they must have brought with them on the way here. I raise a brow at her, and in return she shrugs apologetically. Prim must have told her about my inability to keep food around the house. Either way, it's a rich, delicious breakfast, full of produce we never could have afforded in the old days. Gale devours his one hungrily, but when mother asks him if he would like to stay for another and some tea, he hurriedly declines.

"No, no thank you, I've got to be off. Promised my family to help them finish painting the house," he explains, with a fond little smile and eyes shining excitedly.

Jeez, I know he's a handy kind of guy, but enthusiasm over painting? Then again, the smile probably has more to do with the promised company. I feel a little twitch in my heart at the thought of spending the entire day away from him, but quickly try to repress it. I'm happy as long as he's happy, and right now he needs his family to regain his spirit. Besides, I have my own fair share of retying family bonds to deal with. When I look up at my mother and sister, I'm surprised to find them both smiling encouraging at Gale, with knowing looks in their eyes.

"You knew they were here?" I ask, frowning slightly.

Twin mysterious smirks meet me in response, as they're looking at me like I'm missing the obvious.

"You don't think we've been keeping contact?" Mother sounds mildly reprimanding.

The idea of our families interacting all on their own, without me and Gale there to connect them, has never crossed my mind. I mean, we were all always close before, but since the Games, there has been this unbreakable barrier separating our world from theirs. Nevertheless, as soon as the thought settles into my mind, it seems natural. In a way, Gale and I bonded our families together tightly already from the day we first started providing for them together.

"We thought we had lost you both, you know," Mother continues in that unnerving sincere voice that sets us a little on edge. This proves the fact that Gale and I are both people of action, while my mother and sister are creatures of feeling and thought. Separated, and convinced that we had lost each other forever, we could to nothing but hide from the world, while they tried to heal and move on, using words in their favour. Without them, where would we be?

"I'll walk you out," I tell Gale when he turns to leave, and take his arm with the one that I extract from around Prim. I'm not quite comfortable with kissing right smack on the lips in front of my family just yet, despite what happened this morning.

My mother calls after us, "Will you please ask Hazelle if they won't all come over for dinner this evening?"

"I'm sure they'd love to," says Gale disarmingly, relieved by the easier topic at hand, before thanking her once again for the quick meal.

Outside of my cavernous house, the sun is shining hesitantly through a hazy layer of clouds overhead. A light breeze brings with it the summery smell of freshly burst flowers and the pureness of new grass, invigorating my lungs after the stuffy air inside. Gale and I walk lazily side by side down the short path to my front gate, where he stops to pull me against his chest. I fold my arms tightly around him, laying my head against his shoulder and letting the morning sunshine warm my face. Huddled together, I can almost imagine that life may eventually be easy, as long as we are allowed to stay like this. I don't quite risk hoping for it yet, still wishing to get through just one day at a time, but little by little, I can feel the swelling sense of a brighter future form within me.

Preferably, I wouldn't have to release my grip on Gale for even a few hours, but I know I have to.

"Will you be okay?" he mumbles against my hair, stroking up and down my back with enticing softness.

I break away a little to look up at him, with a wry smile on my face. In the bright summer light, I have a feeling lightness is the way to go.

"For the day? Yeah, I'll try not to get lost in fairyland," I reassure him. "Tell them all I said hi… And sorry," I add.

I'm too much of a coward to tell them myself, even if I know I should. Sorry for involving Gale in my own dark business, sorry for hurting his warm, generous heart, and sorry for letting myself slip away when they might have needed me.

Gale takes my chin gently in his hand, and I can see him trying to fight off the too familiar sadness in his eye.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Catnip. Please believe me."

I pull my lips once more into a tight little smile, touch his face with restless fingers.

"I will, just as soon as you start to believe the same thing."

Contrary to what I had been hoping for, his face falls a little more, before he can stop himself. Instead of talking further, he captures my lips with his own, and holds them in place in a long, searing kiss. When it ends, I gasp for breath, and my mind is effectively cleared. He keeps his face close, nudging my nose with his in a quiet bubble where there's only me and him and our hearts beating in unison for each other.

"It's never easy with us, huh?" he chuckles, and then kisses me again.

"What's to like with easy?" I mumble against his swollen lips, smiling myself now. Before I can let him out of my sight, I have to kiss him again, just once more.

"See you tonight, beautiful."

If it weren't for the fact that Gale is grinning like the mischievous boy he sometimes used to be, I would have soured at the overly silly endearment. As it is, I catch the somewhat over the edge teasing tone of his voice, and in return, I only roll my eyes.

"Whatever, pretty boy."

One more kiss between us ruins the playful mood a little, but I'm still left standing with a soft grin on my face as I watch his back until it disappears around the corner.


	11. Saint Gale and the President

**A/n**: Surprise bonus chapter! It seems I wasn't quite finished with this after all, so what was meant to be one chapter is now this here, and a kind of epilogue coming soon.

Much like last chapter, this is about reconnecting and reconciling, but well, poor Katniss has a lot of that to go through. Step by step, I'm trying to ease her back into a functioning state. Fairy tale innuendos are back in full force, and it's mad really, how well the legend toward the end here fits in! (In my home town, the legend of St George and the dragon is an allusion for the birth of the city, so I was a little extra pleased...)

Thanks for the fabulous comments from last chapter! I do love those...

* * *

It's not until I have long since lost sight of Gale that I notice the figure watching me from a distance. Peeta's stature is one I would recognize anywhere, with his blond mop of hair glinting like gold in the sun. He looks to have just emerged from the third inhabited house in Victor's Village, but frozen in place before he could get very far. When he sees me looking at him questioningly, he starts towards me with slow, hesitant steps.

His kind, blue eyes are wide and far away, his honest face stunned. He is carrying around that same basket of delicious scents that he used to lure me back to nourishment just a few days ago, and I am relieved that at least he has sense enough for the both of us to check on Haymitch.

"Morning," I say, since I don't know what else to make of the situation.

Peeta blinks rapidly a few times, shaking his head until a few blond tresses fall into his eyes.

"Um… Good morning, I guess," he mumbles, switching his eyes between me and the corner of the road, where Gale disappeared a little while ago. "Was that…?"

I quirk an eyebrow at him, wondering partly over his sudden inability to speak, and partly over his potential doubts.

"… One of my _other_ boyfriends? No." I can't stop my lips from twitching up at the ends, and suddenly, Peeta is grinning widely at me. There's such sheer generous happiness in his eyes that my own smile widens in return.

We grin stupidly at each other for a moment, and only once do I glimpse something less than positive in his eyes. If it's wistfulness, sadness or regret, or a mix of all, I'm not sure, but it passes too soon for me to linger on it.

Then he has the good grace to look bashful. "Sorry," he says, and there's no need to explain what for. I just nod, since I really can't begrudge him for doubting my grip on reality last night. Also, I'm feeling more than a tad triumphant, which is not a very flattering emotion. Keeping an easy smile on my face seems like a suitable peace offering. I'd much rather have him as a friend than as a constant burden of my past, after all. This has turned out to be one long Grand Weekend of reconciliations. Inspiration hits me.

"Maybe you could come over for lunch today? Bring some of those butter bread things that my family likes?" I watch him gingerly, gauging his reaction to my attempt at friendliness.

Thankfully, he lights up, shadows clearing in his eyes like the clouds in the sky overhead. He always got along fabulously with my mother and sister.

"That would be very nice," he says. "But I wouldn't want to intrude on your time alone." Such a polite young man- comparing him to prince charming before wasn't such a bad simile. Maybe that's why we would never have gotten along in the long run.

"You're not," I assure him. "See you in a bit."

I turn to go back inside, but stop at his gentle voice calling me back.

"Katniss?" Our eyes meet once more. "Just so you know, I wish you all the best. I do hope you'll be happy together."

The weight of emotion behind these words lodges itself deep in my heart. He would understand, perhaps better than any one else, what a feat that would be for people like us. Once, he thought his happiness depended on only me, and I understand that the complete reversal as of lately is still hard for him to get his head around.

"I hope you'll be happy too, Peeta," I rasp out through the thickness in my throat.

He smiles a little, like there's something he's not telling me, and then he reaches out to give my hand a tight squeeze. That's still about as much physical contact as desired between him and me, and I don't mind for it to stay that way.

We part to walk back into our separate houses, only a stone throw apart but by now two different worlds altogether.

Back inside, I find the kitchen empty and silence ringing in the bright rooms of the first floor. From upstairs comes a quiet rasping of drawers pulled out, and I stop for a second to furrow my brows at the noise, before following it up the broad flight of steps. I find Prim in the middle of a heap of clothes and books and stuffed animals, bent down to pick through the tings without any apparent aim. She straightens up when she sees me blocking the light from the corridor. Our eyes are almost at the same height.

"Where did Mom go?" I ask her to break the silence, as we stand a few feet apart in the spacious, white-painted bedroom that used to belong to her. Suddenly, I have not the faintest idea of how to act around her. She does not need my protection, or even really my care anymore, which brings us to a more even ground than we've ever been on before.

"Oh, she went to town. Said she'd get some food for lunch, but I think she mostly wanted to look around." Prim's voice is fuller, too, but naturally of a higher pitch than mine, with a soothing singsong melody to her words.

"Oh, okay," I copy her tone. I look again at the mounts of old belongings at her feet. Most of them are rather new, of course, since there was no way we could afford superfluous toys and dresses before I won the Games. After that, she had to buy them whether she wanted to or nor, since a certain material standard was expected of us.

"What are you doing with them?" I ask her, one toe nudging a powder pink little dress that looks to be much too small for her now.

"Um, I thought Buttercup could use a new outfit," she says deadpan, only quirking the faintest corner of her mouth.

I narrow my eyes at her. "I thought sarcasm was _my _trademark."

Prim quirks a brow as well, making her face scrunched into an expression that is much to grown up for the little girl I left behind in 13.

"I though you had forgotten how to use it," she returns, not letting my eyes sway from hers, and thus making me flinch a little.

"Well, bad luck Duckie. I'm still my old unpleasant self."

Her thin lips form a little ironic grin, but underneath, there's relief shining through. My words were meant to be playful, but at the same time, reassuring. Quite simply, I don't know how to be honest and direct, not even with my little sister these days. The funny thing is, she seems to be on the same page. I see bubbles of laughter threatening to break through in the stretched lines of her face, as she bursts out the next clever remark:

"Oh, I knew that already."

I stare at her, unbelieving. Where did little angelic Primrose, who would never ever sink so low as to make fun of my recent state of depression, go? With a mixture of intrigue and defeat, I realise that she's probably seen too much, been through too much hardship, to retain her innocence. Just like me, kind of- only Prim is deep down the stronger one of us.

Suddenly, I can't help but bursting with laughter- quiet giggles at first, but it quickly escalates. The whole situation is just too absurd, and it seems the only way to tackle it, with my sister here grinning shamelessly at me, is to laugh in the face of it all. When Prim starts to really crack up too, I'm reminded there's nothing so contagious as laughter between sisters. Soon, I can't see for all the strained tears blurring my vision, and can't stand straight for the cramps in my belly. Helplessly, I reach out my hand to steady myself against her, and she leans on me in return, until we both fall down on the floor in a heap, on top of all the scattered fabric. I can't even remember what was so funny anymore.

"I can't believe Mum bought me this thing," says Prim breathlessly, holding up a doll-like hat with frilly lace trimmings that she must have found on top of the pile. This brings out a new wave of laughter, this time partly because of the sheer silliness of the garment, and partly since it's suddenly so hard to think, seeing her now, that she was ever such a little darling that out mother thought it would fit her. My heart clenches at the thought of how fast she's had to grow up, despite my best efforts to protect her.

"I can't believe you had _dresses_ for you _teddy bears_," I counter, holding up a miniature white wedding dress. And we continue like that, taking turns pointing out ridiculous items and falling into new fits of giggles over each of them. That is, until Prim's hand accidentally comes up gripping a handful of fine, light blue cotton. Before she can react, she has pulled out the dress in its entire worn length, and the impact of memory hits us both square in the face. It's the very same dress I worn to the reaping on that fateful day when all of this began. Suddenly, we're not laughing any more, but just stare at the offensive piece of clothing.

"I _can't believe_ that thing is here," I whisper, staring at the dress like it will come alive and strike, try to strangle me with its short sleeves at any second. The last time I saw it, it was buried deeply in a drawer on the tribute's train, on its way to the Capitol.

Prim's eyes switch to my face. "They gave it to us after you came back. Mother wanted to burn it, but I took behind her back and hid it here," she tells me quietly. It sounds almost as if she's ashamed to admit it.

I'm nonplussed. "Why?"

"I wanted to… keep something to remind me of you. The you before."

My sister's eyes are huge pools of sad blueness, I see for a second before she turns then once more to the dress that is still in her grasp, but now on the floor. Gently, I pry away the fabric from her fingers, take it in my own hands and hold it up before my eyes for inspection. In my current, half-sick state, it would hang off my body, since it's made for a real woman's stature. But maybe in another few months time…

"We'll keep it," I decide firmly. "I want to be that me again. Well, I don't. But I want to be as strong as she was." I can see Prim nod her head solemnly, and I think she understands what it is I'm trying to say.

I don't want to go back to the fierce, relentless and angry kind of girl that I used to be before. I can barely remember who she was, and besides, there's no use for a personality quite as grim as hers in this new world. But I do, however, want to know again what it felt like to be as carefree as I once was, despite my then constant worry about food and money for supplies. Those days were the last times I can think of as even remotely happy.

"Oh, and besides," I pipe up, after clearing any tightness out of my throat. "I'm pretty sure I remember Gale saying he liked the look of me in this." I wiggle my eyebrows at Prim, trying my best to cheer up the atmosphere in the room again. To my indignation, she doesn't even blush, but instead grins her wide, knowing new grin again.

"Speaking of that. About this morning…"

And apparently, it's me who ends up blushing, even though I try to cover it up with a daring "This morning… or last night?"

Prim squeals a little too loud for my ears, and launches off in a never-ending tirade of questions, which I do my best to dodge. We make a new game out of holding up each possession on the floor in turn, sorting them into one discard pile, and a smaller one for things to keep. The discarded items we decide to take to town tomorrow and give away to the poor house and the orphanage- both institutions that have already started up again in out still rather scanty district. It's meticulous work, much like cleaning the house last night, and I find that I don't mind it. When she tires of pressing me for details of the new physical side of Gale's and my relationship, Prim goes on to talk about little things from her life in 4. This time, unlike too many times of the phone, I make an effort to listen and remember.

"So, any boys at all in 4?" I ask casually at one stage, cutting off her tirade about war injuries that she helps heal in the hospital.

"No!" she exclaims, and finally blushes bright pink.

"Good," is all I have to say at that, which earns me a glare contradictive to her forceful negation.

Then the front door bangs open, and Mother's voice floats up the stairs for help to carry in the bags. I walk downstairs trying my best to remember the last time I did something that felt as normal as this- just hanging out with my sister, waiting for our mother to make us lunch and talking about nothing in particular. I think the answer is never.

The rest of the day passes in blur of activity; Peeta comes over at lunchtime, as promised, and charms my mother and sister completely with a batch of cinnamon-scented, buttery white bread. We have a light salad, and then they near stuff their faces with them. In pure bad influence, I press down a whole bun myself, and end up feeling slightly sick. My body is clearly not used to the sugar and fat after months on simple broth and meat.

After that, I'm ordered to go have a lie-down and recover, but the cheerful voices of the three blondes occupying my kitchen flitter relentlessly into my ear, and I find myself unable to relax. When I do fall into a fitful sleep, I dream that I am Snow White, having stumbled through the forest and happened upon a strange dwelling where the seven dwarfs live their weird, carefree life far away from the clutches of the evil queen. I wake up in confusion, thinking I can actually hear the shrill melody of the dwarf's miniature pipes, but as I come to, I realise it's actually the noise of the steam-operated kettle that I hear. The sun is shining brightly outside, but is no longer coming in through the windows in the living room. It must be getting close to dinnertime already.

Half and hour later, I re-emerge downstairs, freshly showered and dressed in a set of clean clothes that I found in the back of a drawer in my room. I think tomorrow I'll make Prim help me sort out my room, too. The early evening silence is disturbed only by the sounds of water boiling and the oven fan spinning, and the outside scents coming in the open back door of grass and lilac are mixed with rich smells of meat and creamy sauce. Without a word, I make my way to join Mother and Prim, grab a stack of dishes to set the table and leave the actual cooking up to them.

Prim is quietly humming to herself while cutting up vegetables, and I'm just thinking it's slightly off key, when I hear footfalls and voices on the front porch. A childish voice calls out a loud _hello_, and I'm just about to turn around to the sound, when suddenly, strong arms grasp around my waist, twist me around and haul me straight up in the air. I squeak in surprise, and instinctively reach out my arms to steady myself against the other person's shoulders.

"Gale!" I complain breathlessly. "Sneaky bastard."

He laughs, careless of my expression, and spins me around in a wide circle.

"You gotta pay attention, Catnip," he chuckles at me, and my attempt at a stern expression falters completely at seeing his indulgent face up close. His eyes are a warm colour, blazing softly for only me to see, which tugs at my ever nerve in response. I lean in closer, and he wraps his arms tighter around me without setting me down. Before both our assembled families, he puts his lips on mine for a long moment, during which I almost forget there is such a thing as a world outside our private bubble.

"I missed you a little," he mumbles, lips still close to mine, as he sets me back on my feet.

I almost say something very private back to him, but stop myself, blushing deeply, when I hear a loud snort, and become aware of all the other people in the room. My hands still on Gale's chest, I turn my head to look at them, and see all eyes in the room fixed on us.

"Uhm…" I start, but the tall boy at my side just laughs again, tucks me in under one arm casually and kissing my temple.

"So, what's for dinner?" He asks to no one in particular. My mother blinks once through the sappy look on her face, and then lapses back into her role as Perfect Hostess.

For dinner, there's chicken; a whole one roasted in the oven, a great success as it is something we have never been able to access out here in 12 before. There's a great deal of bustling and scraping of chairs as everyone takes a seat, filling up the great wooden table the way it was meant to. Posy tries to sit down in between Gale and me, but is quickly interrupted by her big brother, who promptly tugs her up by the waist and steals her chair.

"That's my seat you were in, Dollface," he teases, but softens the blow by placing a big smacking kiss right in her forehead.

"You can't have Katniss all to yourself, _actually_," she challenges him, an all-knowing pout on her little face.

Gale only grins, draping a heavy arm across the back of my seat, scooting our chairs closer together. His hand casually runs the length of my neat braid, and then pulls me tight into his side.

"Oh but I think I can, _actually_," he retorts to his unconvinced little sister. "For a while, at least," he adds more softly, glancing over at me with that look in his eyes that bring an instant blush to my face.

I watch their animated interaction, happy to remain silent among all these familiar voices, and relieved that no one seems to expect me to speak up. The calm lasts long enough, until Posy's insistent voice calls out my name, and I turn my head from watching Prim, Rory and Vick playing a game of eating peas with only their knives. The little girl's dark curls are hanging almost into her gravy as she leans forward to better see me from behind Gale. Her clear eyes are narrowed, flicking back and forth in the non-existent space between him and me, lingering on the way Gale eats with mostly one hand, the other reaching out to me again and again.

"Mmhm?" I ask dazedly. All this talking is strange to my ears, and I'm having serious trouble focusing.

"Are you and Gale going to have a baby now?" She says this in a perfectly matter-of-fact voice, honestly just curious, so I can't really be mad at her. Still, the table falls silent for a short space of time and suddenly every pair of eyes are once again on me.

Before I can think of anything to say through the blank _what?_ echoing in my mind, both Prim and Rory have burst out in fits of giggles. Gale must have seen the distress on my face, because he comes to my rescue, but only after it's clear that none of our mothers will- they seem to be contented watching us squirm under their questioning eyes.

I see him opening his mouth to speak, and suddenly, I'm scared of what he will say. Gale honestly used to want kids, one day, and I doubt that has changed over the past two years, now that we are free and all. For my part, the thought still chills my insides with cold, hard fear, I discover now. I haven't even thought about it for a long time, but it's clear that's a part of me that hasn't changed. A strange, guilty feeling of unease spirals up deep within me.

Thus, I'm extremely relieved when Gale decides to joke away the awkward situation.

"Sure we will, just as soon as you have one. Maybe with that boy from school- what was his name, did you say…? _Bren_?"

"That's stupid!" exclaims Posy, her fine eyebrows high in the air. She throws her two other brothers a death glare when they both start to giggle at her expense, instead. They must have all had some gossipy discussions about school today while painting.

Thankfully, she's easily distracted after that, and fires away talking about her new school instead. There's no way I'm going to discuss future potential offspring with my just-barely-official lover here and now, in front of our family.

"So how was school today?" asks Gale, the perfect picture of a devoted older brother. Again with the kids thing…

"Fun!" answers Posy, clearly liking the new district primary. "We had an _assembly,_ and the new principal was there, and he told us a story." Posy talks deliberately as much like an adult as she can, spelling out the words like they're all new to her, delighted to have the full attention of the room.

"It was a very old story, he said. Do you want to hear it?"

We assure her we do, and she unnecessarily clears her voice once, before beginning.

"Once there was a town, one with high walls around it, like a castle. Everything was good, but then one day a bad, bad dragon flew down from the sky. The dragon was hungry, and he wanted to eat all the pretty young girls in town, because young girls taste the best, he said. But the dragon was really smart, so he sat down outside, and said to the people: if you don't give me one girl every day to eat, I will eat you all instead!" The little girl's eyes widen, and meet everybody else's around the table, making sure they are held up by the suspense. Really, she's quite the storyteller for such a young age.

"So the people in the little town, they arranged for a drawing every day, and all the _maidens_ had to put their names in, and whoever got picked had to walk out to the dragon in the field, and was eaten alive."

Around the table, I can see frowns appear as we listen to the story, which is much too alike our former real life in 12 for anyone to be comfortable. However, the storyteller herself seems unaffected, except for her eyes, nearly bursting with excitement.

"One day, something terrible happened. The king's daughter- the prettiest and kindest girl in the whole town- her name was drawn on the lottery. All the people were so sad that she was the one who had to die, and the king was the saddest of them all. The princess went outside the city gates, to meet the evil dragon, and she didn't even cry, because she was as brace as she was beautiful. But then, a really brave man came on his horse, and he killed the dragon with his sword and saved the princess from death and the town from the fear of the dragon."

She pauses for a second, wrinkling her brow in deep though.

"I don't remember what happens then, but I'm pretty sure they lived happily ever after." She looks around expectantly then, asking "So, did you like it? I think it's really, really good!"

No one can answer her at first. My throat is swelled up with part emotion, part embarrassment, and part fear. I wonder intensely if this is something her teachers made up, as a form of history class for the youngest kids, or if it's in truth an actual story from before Panem. Either way, the recognition is chilling.

I can hear Gale swallow thickly to my left, and realise only then that he has been gripping my hand convulsively all this time.

"Pose," he begins quietly, "you know the dragon is _actually_ dead, don't you?" He sounds sincerely worried, disapproving of the people who put such scary stories in his sister's mind. But she, however, surprises us all once again.

"I _know_ that, Gale," she drawls, rolling her eyes. Then she smiles an impish little smile, while looking smugly at me, and then at him. "Afterwards, I said to the whole school that that brave knight in the story,_ that's my big brother_."

Her chin is high, her short arms are folded across her chest, and I can't help but wonder what planet this six-year-old girl is actually from. Clearly, she knows way too much already, and yet here she sits, fearless and wise beyond her years. Beyond my years too, apparently. Hazelle's eyes are only a little wild as she regards her youngest child, but more than anything, she looks smug. Gale, on the other hand, only seems stunned. And like me, a little self-conscious.

"They're going to put a memorial statue of it on the square, you know," pipes up my mother while trying to suppress a smile. When both our head snap in her direction, she elaborates a little. "Well, of that legend that Posy just told. Not of… you know"

Still, Katniss can feel her mind spinning dangerously. _No, no, no,_ it seems to be saying. _I'm not some kind of fairy tale heroine. Please don't make me one. I just want to be left alone, please…_

And there it is: the simple truth of her own mind. She's not ready for all this. The domestic scene before her suddenly feels too alien, too familiar, too full of bright happiness. It's not right and she shouldn't be here, helplessly out of place, an outsider to their warm company. The light voices, the laughter, the sounds of multiple bodies breathing and living, it's too much- it forms a cacophony of dissonance in her fragile eardrums and spreads through her blood like poison. _You're not good enough for the living_, it is whispering, slivers of ice, resonating in her every nerve and bone.

At once, she can no longer make out what is being said around her, and she's not sure she could breathe even if she tried to. When a voice calls her name, right in her ear, it sounds too distant to be real. She's staring right at what might be her own hand, sees the larger fingers squeezed around it, but she can't feel anything but coldness. Her head must have been lifted, because she has forgotten how to move it, and suddenly, deep grey eyes, lined with concern are taking up her vision. They help her focus, enough to make out the most familiar of voices, its melody fighting off some of the darkness in her soul.

He says something about bed, and she thinks she manages to nod her head at least once, because then she's in the air, lifted across his strong warm arms. Worried voices drift in from outside their private sphere, but in his voice, rumbling up from beneath her ear, she hears only calm reassurance.

"…fine, just exhausted."

She closes her eyes so that she doesn't have to see any more concerned faces, and can't even find it in her to be uncomfortable about the fact the she's not walking on her own two feet. It's just Gale, and she has no pride to keep intact for his sake anymore, and besides, it's so wonderfully restful here.

When she feels herself lowered unto the softness of her old bed, it's not nearly as comfortable, but instead cold and full of old memories that she doesn't want back. She clutches at his shirt, and to her relief, he lies down with her, folds her into his side securely. With her face buried deep on his chest, tucked under his chin so that her lips move against the skin of his neck, she mumbles feverishly:

"I can't stay here, Gale. I can't stand this place. I'm not ready."

His hands are kneading relaxing warmth into her stiff limbs, and when he pulls her head back a little to meet his eyes, she can see that he too, have slipped off his calm and collected public mask for now.

"Then we'll go," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. It is, but the word _we_ still soothes her nerves more than any tranquillizing medicine in the world ever could.

"We," she mumbles again, into the skin of his lips this time. Then she secures one leg across his lower abdomen, just in case, so that nothing can make him escape her embrace, and falls promptly into deep sleep.


	12. A Midsummer night's dream

**A/n: **At long last, here's the end of the road for this time. Final chapter, a sort of epilogue to finally give our favourite two their happy ever after, just like I promised from the start :) I have enjoyed writing this so much, as it is very close to my heart. I mean, the Swedish tourist board should give me money for writing it! The song is real (if only badly translated!), the weird tradition at the end is real (!), but unfortunately, the characters are still fictional (I wish!)...

A great big thanks to everyone and anyone who have been reading, and especially to those of you who have faithfully reviewed each chapter! You have a special place in my heart :) One more time with a feeling?

(Oh, and if you're not sick of me yet, I have another story going these days...)

Xxx

* * *

Three days later, we set out again, leaving behind the familiar and yet so estranged place where we grew up, replacing it with the only real home either of us knows any more. Once more, we're running away from everything that we will eventually have to face, but in a another very real way, we're running _towards_ something; peace of mind, a chance at happiness, the rest of our lives. The only thing that matters is that we're together, and all the details will eventually fall into place.

Right now, I can't stand walking the streets of Twelve, where I am constantly reminded wherever I go of my past failures, of the cowardice in me that lead to so much death, and to a pile of ashes where before there was life. Prim has tried to convince me that life will soon again sprout in the midst of it, trying her best to make me see it has already begun, much like Peeta did that day not so long ago, but all I can see is still the ruins of the past. I'm just not ready yet, but according to my mother, one day I'll be. Until then, I'm better off leaving the place.

Where we'd go was never much of a question, since the only place I know where Gale and I can both be at ease is the last place we have positive memories to yearn back to. The lake house is not much of a home in its present state, but with a little time and effort, we'll make it work. Frankly, all we have is time, and bodies in need of occupation to keep our minds from spiralling into dark places. And it's summer yet; the light season has only just begun, just in time to guide our way back to health and better times, so figuratively speaking, the future looks bright.

My feet are lighter than I can remember experiencing in a long time as they walk the familiar path away from the district fence, padding the soft forest floor of pine needles and grass soundlessly. Not even the oversized pack hanging from my shoulders feels as heavy as it should, considering the huge amount of things that are in it. Between the two of us, we have enough supplies to make life in the woods somewhat confortable, but settling in will still take long hours of work every day, and we'll have to return every once in a while to town, to stack up on thing we can't hunt or make ourselves.

From Gale's mother, we have a small bag of seeds to start a little vegetable patch, while mine has made sure we have the essential medical supplies, in case of an accident. I believe it's their own way to set us free and protect us, all at once. Overall, I'm a little surprised by how easily they've accepted this new form that our relationship has taken, neither of them even raising an eyebrow at how openly different we're acting around each other. Whether they like it or not, we're dead tired of pretending after all those past years of enforced cousinship, and they're sort of getting the uncensored version, where any second not spent in physical contact is a wasted one as far as we're concerned. Well, not quite uncensored - what goes on when it's just the two of us alone is nothing for anyone else to see. I look over to Gale, thinking that once we reach the cabin, no form of self-control in that department will be necessary anymore. Besides, it much too warm for that thick shirt he's currently wearing, as the afternoon sun is blazing down on our backs. My mind wanders places only recently discovered, and far from fully discovered in the little time we've had alone in the last couple of days. Suddenly, I can't wait for the walk through the forest to be over, no matter how much I usually enjoy it.

Gale senses my heavy gaze, and turns his head down to the side, meeting it with glittering, light grey eyes. He sees me biting my lower lip slightly, reads my mood quicker than possible, and grins slyly at this.

"See something you like, Catnip?" he teases me, heaving his backpack higher on his broad shoulders. Catching sight of my rosy-tinted cheeks, his grin widens.

I retort to my one form of fool-proof protection; sarcasm. "Oh, you know, fairies and trolls - the usual mentally challenged stuff."

Gale frowns a small bit, still not quite comfortable with jokes about my less-than-healthy mental state, even if it's quickly become a lot better in the last couple of days. In the presence of a chosen few loved ones, and with the constant food that my mother has made me stuff down over the weekend, I'm beginning to make the transition back from ghost to human. Last night when he climbed into bed beside me, Gale had run an experimental finger down the length of my side, from my cheek to my knee, his eyes following it closely over almost naked skin.

"You're not as pale anymore," he had mumbled, his eyes bottomless when they connected with my questioning ones. "And softer. I like it." His hesitant smile and whispered words were proof enough that even the smallest of confessions are still difficult between us, words endlessly more complicated than action.

However, I'm still not sure what to make of it. So he wants soft and curvaceous, huh? Unfortunately, that's not me. Never has been, either – an upbringing in the Seam will make sure of that. On the other hand, Gale is all wire and lean muscle, too, but on him it's most definitely flattering. Suddenly, I'm worried I look like a little girl to him, despite having never worried about my appearance ever before in my whole life.

"Hmm, which one am I, in that case?" His voice brings me back from my insecure inner musings, but I'm still a little too distracted to come up with a good answer. I've got to get out of this fairy land-routine of lately, anyway. Instead I just wiggle an eyebrow suggestively.

"Nah, neither. But if you insist, you could come over here and prove to me you're real, again?"

Gale laughs, and I'm a little more focused on the now just by hearing it. If I have a say, I'll make him repeat that sound every day from now on.

"Oh maybe I will… Laters, pixie queen." Gale speeds up his steps, clearly playing hard to get to my great annoyance.

"Alright then, ogre it is…" I mutter, setting off to catch up with his tall frame.

* * *

This morning, I had woken up to an eerily silent house, the only sound being Gale's light snores and the faint buzzing from the water boiler in my bathroom. My mother and Prim had gone back to District 4 the night before, and the home we originally shared had felt emptier than ever after that. For their last evening of visiting, I had reluctantly agreed to go to town with them, let my mother buy us all food from the market and lead me to the meadow beside the site where our old house had stood. We sat in the tall grass together, letting the sun colour our skin and the hours pass by without any regard to time.

Prim had been lying down with her blond head in my lap, talking of little silly nothings while twining flowers between her nimble fingers, making me promise over and over again to come back every once in a while to give her a call.

"If you don't, I'll worry, and then just so you know, I'll go out there searching for you. And you had better not let it come to that, because you know I'll get lost."

I had smiled down at her mock-serious, upside-down face, where freckles were steadily forming almost before my eyes, and I had lifted an eyebrow, trying not to smile.

"Perhaps you could bring Rory along," I had commented, unable to hold back a teasing grin. "I'm sure he'd _love_ to get lost in the woods with you."

Sometimes, Prim and I are not so different after all. Just like I surely would have, she had blushed bright red, and swatted my leg in irritation.

"Shut up!"

"Primrose! Language!"

We had both tensed in surprise at our mother's voice, reprimanding in a most uncharacteristic way. However, the suppressed smirk on her face looked too much like my own to be a coincidence, and who would have thought: there's a sardonic side to her as well. In the sunshine, it suddenly hadn't mattered that my hair is dark while theirs is the colour of straw, that my eyes mark me as my father's daughter while theirs are as bright blue as the sky; because I knew then that I belong with them, and that knowledge binds me tighter to this earth than any mental cure or medicine ever could. In the last hours of sunlight, Prim had crowned me in a circlet of flowers, and officially declared me welcome back to life.

Now they're halfway across the whole of Panem again, but it doesn't matter so much as long as I know I'll see them again, as soon as I wish. Peeta had gone back home this morning, too, muttering something about harvests to take in, but I secretly wonder if there isn't a bit more behind it. Two nights ago, I had gone over to hand him some leftover dinner from my mother, and entered his house without knocking only to stop short at the sound of his voice speaking on the phone. Too curious to move or let my presence be known, I had listened with sharp ears, heard him finish a call in a voice softer than usual.

"Alright, I'll see you soon. Yeah… Miss you too."

If I had any less shame in my body, I would have barged right in and demanded _misses who?_ to satisfy my interest. As it was, I never got around to find the courage to ask. Whoever it was though, I couldn't be more relieved.

As for Gale's family, we had seen them off after lunch in the doorway to their wonderful little house, which has finally been painted bright yellow all over after some hard work on his part over the weekend. I couldn't imagine a better place for little Posy to grow up than in the grassy playground underneath that apple tree, sheltered from the cruelty of the world forever.

I tread into the depths of the woods, thinking of all the people we leave behind, and I can't help but wonder what the future hold for them, for us, in this strange new world. Its endless possibilities scare me to death, at the same time that they spark up a brilliant light inside my chest. In the life before, I was the girl on fire, the Mockingjay, and finally, I ceased to exist in this world, until my best friend fought his way through the thorny wastelands of my soul to get back to me.

And now, who am I now?

All that comes to my mind at that thought, is the melody of a song. Prim had made me sing it in the meadow, pointed out two little birds in a tree close by.

"Look, Katniss, sing it to them, please?"

Mockingjays. I could easily hate them for the memories they bring back, but instead, I had found myself calmed by their curious twittering. I can see them high above in the tree crowns now, their wings fluttering in the sun. And faintly, as if in a dream, I hear them repeating stray notes of my song from days before, distorted by their quipped little beaks, but still recognisable as tones I learned long, long ago from my father, the magician of melodies.

_Out in the garden, where blue berries grow_

_My heart's content_

_If you come looking, that's where I shall be_

_Of lilies and columbine, of roses and woodbine_

_The sweet scent of lilac_

_Come heart's content_

As I walk, heedless of anything but the greenery around, my path is lined with more and more little birds, listening silently to the clear tones of a song as old as the trees beneath their claws. When I fall silent, nothing is audible but the soft whooshing of the leaves around us, until, one by one in a disorganized cacophony, the song is picked up again above my head.

I feel a grin split my face, brought back in time to memories that are no longer so painful, and find Gale watching me, smiling too. I had almost forgotten he was here. Without a word, he takes hold of my hand, draws closer to me and gently presses his lips to my temple. The song trails after us all the way to the cabin, sung over and over again as I can't resist repeating it to my attentive audience each time they get confused by each other.

Fairy queen, indeed, I think, just before we step out of the treeline, finally there. I let my backpack fall to the ground with a loud thud, rolling my shoulders, which have gone stiff from the weight. The lake is bluer than memory can do justice, and the meadow spreading out before it looks like true heaven, after almost a week spend in the greyness of Twelve. I feel light, free as the birds, which are currently soaring high above the water in a dizzying formation, as high as I imagine my spirit is rising after a lifetime in tight confinement.

The sun is well past noon at this stage, filtering through the leaves on top of the tallest trees with beautiful, pale orange light. I squint, and watch its rays illuminate the strong lines of Gale's features, turn his eyes into liquid bronze. It's enough to make me breathe in a long gulp of fresh forest air, and I can smell the upcoming evening, taste a cold night coming on my tongue. The sky is distinctly cloudless.

"Tonight is midsummer," I remark absently. "If you pick seven different flowers, and put them under your pillow, you'll see the girl you're meant to marry in your dreams."

Gale smiles teasingly at me, but his eyes are warm.

"I don't need flowers for that. Or dreams for that matter," he grins, scooping an arm around my waist to twirl me against his chest. I laugh freely, because the implication behind his word is no longer strange to me. Married? Who knows - it's not exactly my top priority. To me, it's little more than an empty formality. But what it really means is spending our whole lives together, sharing our days in good times and in bad, and _that_ I know I want. It's not a question, but just a fact, as plain as it is crucial. Gale and I, together. A team, best friends, but also so much more.

My chuckles are cut off promptly by his full lips, by now so familiar against mine, yet I'm still amazed every time. I could become undone by them right here and now, but he pulls back responsibly shortly after, still grinning down at me.

"But who knows, maybe a dream will set us straight?" He's teasing now, and I smack his arm lightly, making a face. It's almost a familiar pattern, a ghost of our old selves, but it disappears quickly as he leans down to kiss my pout away. I don't miss those kids from before.

* * *

Gale may be teasing me over the bit of folklore I shared with him, but that night, after we have cleaned up and settled our few belongings in the small cabin, and he returns from the snare run he insisted on going on alone, it's with a handful of wild forest flowers and a sheepish look on his face. He holds them out to me - red clover and buttercups, forget-me-nots and wood anemone. In the middle, there's even a white orchid that he's stumbled upon, or maybe searched meticulously for. There are exactly seven different kinds, forming a colourful bouquet that smells like summer and like home. My mouth forms a perfect _o_ in delight when I take them from him, before I regain my normal composed self and squint up on him with a smirk.

"Uncertain of our choices, are we?" I ask, with apparent laughter in my voice.

He gives me a small, wry smile in response.

"_Never. _Maybe I wanted you to dream of only me," he grins then, his usual self-assured persona showing. But I know there's more to those words, a hidden wish to take all my nightmares away and replace them with only love and light. My heart swells, and I can just feel my eyes go exactly as soft and gushy – uncharacteristic - as his are right now.

"I don't need flowers for that, either," I say quietly, burying my noses in the scent of the blooming life in my hands. This novel side to our old companionship will take a lot getting used to, but I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world - if only I could stop myself from blushing every other second, that is. The presence of this man, who I once knew better than any one else, does strange things to my body now that I've let him in even further. I think that I may just want to spend a long, long time getting to know _us_ again, in this new way where no boundaries exist between us at all. We have all the time in the world, and boundless space here in the woods, so really, nothing should stop us.

The seven kinds of flowers end up under my pillow eventually, anyway. I don't know how I could possibly dream of anything besides Gale, considering the way he just made my body sing with his own, and the way I'm pressed so close to him that I'm not sure where I end and he begins. But just in case, it's nice to know I'm protected, the ancient magic of tales guarding me from the demons haunting my sleep.

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a young girl and a boy; too proud for their own good, brought together by fate in the woods with a past they would rather forget, and no future ahead of them. With odds that were never in their favour, fate would have them separate, grow cold in the cruel clutches of stolen decisions, and then torn worlds apart by love and war.

By the tips of their fingers, they both escaped the eternal darkness of death, but they know now better than most, that life is not a fairy tale. It does not come with a guaranteed happy ending, but as it turns out, they have been given one anyway. Or at least, it is a chance to a happy ever after - a chance that they will grasp and hold onto harder than they've ever fought to stay alive before. Because the difference between staying alive and falling in love is not so evident, in their case, while at the same time, it's two worlds apart- one as strenuous as the other is effortless. So for once, they can let themselves fall, tumble down an unknown path into a hazy, shapeless future, knowing without a doubt that wherever they end up, the choice is theirs alone, and not in the hands of unforeseen chance.


End file.
